


Gravity Breaking

by unos



Series: It's Not About the Light [1]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-11-13 13:52:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 80,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11186472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unos/pseuds/unos
Summary: “I wanted to ask you whether we could try to be friends,” he says.It does break the moment. Shoma was right.“I’m sorry about how I’ve handled things so far. I want to do better.”Yuzuru’s hand moves to cover Shoma’s, where it lies kind of lifeless between them.Shoma blinks, forces himself to look down at where Yuzuru’s thumb is drawing a small, warm circle on Shoma’s pulse point.That’s real.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Ocean Vuong's Eurydice. The full line goes:  
> ...  
> His name changed when touched  
> by gravity. Gravity breaking  
> our kneecaps just to show us  
> the sky...

Shoma is tying his skates when someone comes up to him. It’s not unusual, exactly, but Shoma has a reputation for being shy and slightly stand-offish. Noone thinks he’s mean, probably, they just think he’s weird and dreamy and unable to speak a straight sentence.

“Hey,” says the person who is hovering in his periphery. Oh.

Shoma doesn’t have to look up to know that it’s Yuzuru. He would know Yuzuru’s voice even if they’d never spoken before, would know him from TV interviews and other competitions. As it is, he knows this particular tone all too well. Yuzu never sounds like he dreads anything, except when he speaks to Shoma.

He has no choice but to look up, he knows. An uncomfortable time has already passed, he really should answer. It’s difficult to school his facial expression into something casual, into his usual blank face, but he manages.

Yuzuru’s eyebrows are drawn together, and he is fidgeting. He never fidgets, at least not that Shoma has seen until now.

“Hi,” he croaks out, a rough half-whisper.

He wants to cringe at that, but keeps the grimace internal. Yuzuru’s eyes widen, his hands still.

This is exhausting, and they’ve exchanged merely two words. Shoma ties one boot, then the other. He can feel Yuzuru’s eyes following his movements. It feels like he is burning holes into Shoma’s hands, the back of his head. Shoma’s face feels hot.

He doesn’t quite understand why Yuzuru chose to come to him now. They’ve been perfectly fine ignoring each other. They could have continued doing so, Shoma would be just fine with that.

Yuzuru clears his throat. Shoma gets up, looks at him. He has to tilt his head up a little more than he’d like to really meet Yuzuru’s eyes, because Yuzuru still has half a head of height on him. Shoma used to hope for a growth-spurt, but he has long stopped.

Shoma feels fine the way he is. He’s good. He doesn’t need to change anything about himself.  

When Yuzuru doesn’t say anything, just stands there holding Shoma’s gaze as if that alone was meant to communicate to him something undefinable, something amorphous but nevertheless vitally important, Shoma makes a choice.

A life choice. Again.

He nods in acknowledgement, turns to take his jacket, and leaves. He doesn’t turn back to check Yuzuru’s reaction, though that’s hard. He doesn’t look around to see how many people noticed and witnessed this confrontation, how many people picked up on the palpable weirdness of it all. He just walks off, legs feeling like putty, like wooden stilts, towards the ice.

Everything is easier on the ice. Shoma feels immediately at ease when his skates meet its smooth surface. Many people, professional skaters or no, feel that first touch as a kind of vertigo, feel that there is a small moment in which their posture and balance have to readjust. Most consider this a negative thing, but for Shoma, it has always felt steadying. The ice is letting him know he’s home.

His knees bend into familiar motion easily, his body falling into pattern as he begins taking up speed for a first cycle around the rink. He feels every part of himself arrive here, in this moment, the moments before forgotten, and every coming moment unimportant, except for the steps he will try, the jumps he wants to accomplish. Maybe the flip, again. Maybe he can refine that a little for his upcoming performance.

He skates until he’s out of breath, sweat gathering on his face and sticking his shirt to his belly and under his arms, jumps until his thighs burn and he can feel the slight twinge of overuse in his joints. He skates without seeing anything, really, except rough shapes that are warnings not to cross their path too much.

He forgets all about Yuzuru, who is on the ice with him.

Then the audience gasps in a way they only do for the worst of falls, and Shoma is back in his head, back in the past, back in a present that isn’t just about him and his body, moving in unison.

Obviously, Yuzuru had to fuck up his moment of peace by falling dramatically out of a quad sal.

Shoma spots him immediately, spread out on the ice and gasping. He must have fallen hard if it left him so winded, but Shoma can’t discern how he fell, whether he seriously hurt himself. Yuzu is wearing the usual training attire he brings for sessions open to the public, which covers him, ankles to wrists to neck, in tight black fabric.

Shoma, on the other hand, is wearing a thin cotton t-shirt with short sleeves and some training pants his mother bought for him five years ago. When he looks down, he can already see bruises forming on his elbow, stretching down his forearm in a foreboding red that will soon turn blue and purple. Shoma hasn’t fallen, and he won’t hurt himself just to cover Yuzuru’s mistakes.

He skates over to where his jacket is hanging over the boards, and puts it on, takes a drink from his bottle to make this break look legit.

When he turns back to look out, Yuzuru has picked himself back up and is skating around in slow circles. His face is scrunched up and he is using his right side rather tenderly. It won’t be noticeable to an untrained or unfamiliar observer, but Shoma is anything but. Yuzuru must have bruised his hip as well, probably his knees, too.

Shoma sighs, and hates himself a little. Allows himself a split second to hate Yuzuru, too. Then he goes back to practice.

He skates past Yuzu, once, twice. It’s hard to get back into that zone of complete concentration. Now that he is paying attention, it’s hard not to notice the way Yuzu plans his elements to land right in Shoma’s line of sight, how his patterns follow Shoma’s. It could be a coincidence. It’s probably coincidence.

Then Yuzu lands what is frankly an offensively perfect triple axel right in front of Shoma.

Maybe not a coincidence, after all. Especially considering that weird conversion, if he wants to call the timid exchange of greetings earlier that.

Shoma realizes that he is not looking where he is going. Then he realizes that Yuzuru is leaning back, about to hydroblade right into his path, and Shoma has to throw himself back, reining his body in and back and almost overbalancing to keep out of Yuzuru’s way.

Fuck.

“What!?” he gasps out. And no, no this is no coincidence, and no, this is not ok because what the fuck. Shoma turns on a blade, and goes after him. Maybe this will call attention to the two of them, but that doesn’t matter right now.

“What is wrong with you?” he hisses out once he catches up to Yuzuru. “Why would you do that!?”

Yuzuru just keeps skating, facing forward.

Shoma tries to breathe, realizes he can’t. He can’t quite catch his breath, too caught up in the moment. What if they’d crashed into each other, what if he’d fallen, what if---

“You almost crashed into me! Why would you do that?”

That, at least, finally makes Yuzuru look at Shoma. His face is carefully blank, in a way that Shoma usually is and has never wanted to see on Yuzuru’s face, which is usually so animated, so honest to his emotions and so full of life. Even when he’s focused, Yuzuru’s determination and grit are palpable in his eyes, in the set of his mouth and jaw.

When it is emotionless, Shoma can’t read his face at all. He feels his own face fall into a mirror image of blankness, when before he must have shown his desperation, his exasperation. Fear.

Whatever there had been, the change shakes Yuzuru out of his blank stare into something a little more _him_. His eyes widen, eyebrows raise.

“I was never close enough to touch you,” he says, hands raising up. His fingers, Shoma will always notice, are long and slender. He’s wearing gloves. Shoma is, too, because this morning, his knuckles had been blue and purple from a fall he can’t remember; or a fall that wasn’t his.

“Even if you think that,” Shoma whispers harshly, “You have to be more careful. That fall? Before? That’s dangerous.”

What was meant to sound angry sounds pleading instead. He doesn’t mean to, he had meant to put Yuzuru in his place, maybe, but confronted with the reality of him- It’s different. Yuzuru’s different, here, on the ice, like Shoma is different. He hadn’t accounted for that.

Yuzuru looks at him, eyes narrowing. Shoma realizes, a second too late, that maybe walking off before had been a mistake. That maybe letting Yuzuru talk to him would have been smarter than bringing this up on the ice, in a whispered hiss, when they are both upset and tired from training and-

Yuzuru reaches out to him, taking his wrist, pulling him a little closer to his side so he can whisper more quietly than Shoma did.

“I’m sorry.”

Oh.

That, too, is unexpected. Shoma keeps his head down, nods, bows the tiniest bit. He should extricate himself from Yuzuru’s grasp, but his hand is warm, even though his gloves and Shoma’s jacket. Even standing just like this, Shoma feels warmer.

When he looks up, Yuzuru is frowning at him again, but his eyes are warm.

“You don’t want them to find out, after all,” Shoma blurts out, quietly. “So we can’t risk bruising too much.”

Yuzuru’s hand falls away, and his jaw sets. He nods, slowly, like he is considering this for the first time. He lets Shoma go, though, and Shoma takes it as permission to skate off.

The rest of the session is a disaster. Shoma can’t get back to that peaceful sense of unity with the ice, constantly disturbed by the awareness that Yuzuru is there, not quite watching, and now staying very carefully out of his way. He can’t help but pay attention, but Yuzuru doesn’t have any more falls, probably because he stops practicing his jumps.

It’s not like him. Yuzuru throws himself into each session like it is his last before a big competition, like he had to prove himself with every stroke of his blade over the surface of the ice.

Shoma doesn’t want to change, but this isn’t right, either.

He breaks off his session early, too warm in his jacket, and too uncomfortable in his skin. He takes the next shuttle to the hotel and showers there.

As expected, there is red spreading across his hip, small red and purple drops dotting the surface of his skin. When he presses his hand to it, it doesn’t hurt. He runs his hand down to his knee, which is already turning purple, runs his other hand over his elbow, which is a bluer shade.

Yuzuru really did not take it easy today. He doesn’t take it easy often, but it isn’t usually this bad. Usually, skaters don’t fall all that much, or all that hard. You learn to protect yourself, to fall right, as time passes.

Maybe the later part of the practice session wasn’t due to their talk, but due to the quiet painful thrum of blood through his tissue.

Shoma sets the water a little hotter, leans his head back, then forward to let the water work out the kinks in his back. He can feel his muscles unlock when he digs in his thumbs into the flesh of his shoulders, into the muscles next to his spine. Runs his hands down his body, over the side that will be black and blue in the coming days. He presses into the flesh there as well, half wants to feel it ache like Yuzuru must feel it ache.

He pulls his hands back instead, runs them down his belly to where his cock is waiting.

He knows the pull of blood in a bruise upon fast rotation, spinning into a jump, the way that everything in the body pulls a little under centrifugal force.

This is like that, but not quite. There’s the same thrum of excitement, the same comforting knowledge of his body being forced into something that comes naturally but must be learned nonetheless. Shoma knows this. It’s a hot rush of adrenaline, it’s a learning curve that can only end in satisfaction.

He leans his head back, lets his back rest against the wall, lets the warm water beat onto his head, glide down his face and neck and chest and legs, lets himself close his eyes and feel slow and warm and heavy.

Stepping out of the shower is difficult. He ends up climbing into his boxers and a t-shirt still half-damp, entirely exhausted. The bed smells strange, but he’s tired enough to ignore it. He sinks into the soft mattress and barely manages to pull the blanket over himself before he is asleep.

***

His eyes have been closed for merely minutes, perhaps only seconds when the knocking at the door wakes him up. Shoma groans, waits for it to stop. It doesn’t.

It’s probably Mihoko, who wants to check on him. He can let her in and go back to bed. Yes.

He drags himself out of bed on autopilot, eyes still closed. He’s just going to tell her that he’s alive, sort of.

Behind the door is not Mihoko. No Keiji or Satoko or any of the other suspects, either. Instead, there is Yuzuru, who smiles with a slow tilt to it when he sees Shoma.

Shoma blinks.

No, he’s still there.

“Hey,” he says. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Shoma blinks again. Brings his hand up to rub at his eyes. When he looks at Yuzuru again, he is still there, but his smile has dimmed a little with what must be impatience. If he lets him in, Shoma thinks, he can at least go back into the bed. Even if he can’t go back to sleep, that’s one step closer than he is right now.

There is a slight draft that raises goosebumps on Shoma’s arms, and he realizes with a small start that he is kind of undressed.

It’s nothing that Yuzuru hasn’t seen, since they have been sharing dressing rooms at different competitions for years and years, but they never look. Everyone is always too busy with themselves to look.

Yuzuru is looking, now.

“Oh,” Shoma breathes out, and steps back. Yuzuru takes the invitation for what it is, and awkwardly forces Shoma to shuffle back into his hotel room.

“Did I wake you?” he asks, kind of superfluously, after taking in the unmade bed. He does a double-take on Shoma, running his eyes over his hair, which is most likely disheveled, to his t-shirt, his boxer shorts, his knobbly knees and shins and ankles.

Yuzuru’s eyes return, again, to somewhere around Shoma’s middle.

Oh, yeah. The bruises.

“I’m sorry,” Yuzuru says.

“You’ve said that,” Shoma can’t help but state, kind of dry. His voice is a little hoarse from sleeping.

Yuzuru’s face falls a little at that, like he had expected them to be.. what? On better terms?

“It happens.” Shoma adds, kind of dry. “It’s not like you do it on purpose. It’s fine.”

It is, really. They will have to talk, now and again, at different functions. An acknowledgement of this thing between them probably counts as better terms.

But Yuzuru is shaking his head. His jaw is clenched when he looks at Shoma again.

“I want to talk to you about earlier.” He looks like he’s going into his long program after a tough short, revealing the steely core that is the foundation of him.

Shoma nods. They can do that. It will be good to establish some ground rules for mutual avoidance and casual acquaintance.

Yuzuru’s eyes catch at Shoma’s elbow again. He gestures to it, an odd expression on his face.

“Can I?”

But before Shoma can properly decide, Yuzuru has already taken his arm at the wrist, and is slowly sliding his hand up, until it covers the redness there. His fingers are cool, a stark contrast to how warm they were at the rink. Shoma shivers, gooseflesh rising.

“Are you cold?” Yuzuru asks, concern obvious on his face. It’s nice, a change from his usual frown.

“I woke you up, you must be freezing, I’m sorry, you should get back under your blankets.”

He is still holding Shoma’s arm, palm cupping Shoma’s elbow and long fingers wrapped around so his fingertips just barely touch the soft inside part where the veins stand out just a little. The places where skin meets skin are warming. Shoma can’t tear away his eyes.

They’re standing close, closer than they did on the ice, but Shoma is never as confident, never as direct as he can be there.

But right now, with Yuzu this close, with his skin so close, close enough to touch, he almost feels like he could be. He feels his body like he only ever does when he’s skating, like he is fully inhabiting it, down to the smallest cell.

Meeting Yuzuru’s eyes is too easy. There is something there, something that Shoma can’t quite match. It’s nothing he can read, either.

Into that feeling of helplessness comes Yuzuru’s slight push, his slight smile.

“Just get back into bed,” he says, like he knows Shoma well enough to know that all he wants right now is sleep.

Shoma sits back into the space he’s left just minutes earlier, pulls his legs up and under the covers. Yuzuru sits on the side of the mattress, facing him.

“I guess this morning was shit timing, huh?” Yuzuru’s voice is very soft, and Shoma allows himself be gentled by it, lets it calm him. He yawns a little, hiding his grimace behind a fist, nods.

Yuzuru is running his fingers over the inside of Shoma’s elbow, the soft skin there in the bend of it, until Shoma can’t quite feel whether his fingertips are there or not. It’s something Yuzuru appears to do without thinking, the touch second nature to his being.

“What did you want to talk about?” Shoma asks, and Yuzuru smiles at him.

The moment stretches. If they could have had this moment in the morning, rather than the awkwardness that Shoma walked away from, maybe Yuzuru wouldn’t have fallen so hard, and then Shoma would not be feeling his fingertips on his skin right now.

He wants to know whether Yuzuru did those things just to get his attention, but he can’t make himself ask. Not when it would interrupt the first peaceful moment he has ever had with Yuzuru. Not when it would interrupt this strange calm intensity between them right now.

So he lets Yuzuru run his fingers down his arm to his wrist in a soft caress instead, and says nothing.

Yuzuru looks soft, now, jaw unclenched and mouth relaxed. He’s out of his severe black clothes and is instead wearing a red shirt that looks lived-in and soft, and his hair is a bit untidy, like he’s run his hands through it.

He’s biting his lower lip.

Shoma’s lips are chapped.

“I wanted to ask you whether we could try to be friends,” he says.

It does break the moment. Shoma was right.

“I’m sorry about how I’ve handled things so far. I want to do better.”

Yuzuru’s hand moves to cover Shoma’s, where is lies kind of lifeless between them.

All of him feels lifeless.

Yuzuru wants, what? Play at being friends? Pretend to be interested in Shoma, now that they will be skating in all the same competitions, rather than just some of them? Does he want to admit it, or be friends to keep it under wraps better?

Shoma blinks, forces himself to look down at where Yuzuru’s thumb is drawing a small, warm circle on Shoma’s pulse point.

That’s real.

The bruise on his elbow is real.

Whatever is happening here, whatever Yuzuru is trying to do?

That is something Shoma can’t quite parse.

“Hey?” Yuzuru asks, concern in his voice. He sounds so soft. Shoma doesn’t remember if Yuzuru had sounded soft with him, before. All he remembers is feeling terribly blank.

“Yeah,” he makes himself whisper. He doesn’t look at Yuzuru, just looks at their hands.

“Sure,” his voice sounds about as lifeless as he feels. A charade, maybe. A play, like a character some skaters play on the ice.

Shoma has always been terrible at not being himself. But who is to say that he has to lie at all.

“Let’s be friends, now.”

Yuzuru doesn’t seem to pick up on this at all. His voice sounds satisfied, almost cheerful, but Shoma isn’t going to check whether his eyes are smiling if his mouth is. Shoma needs to not know.

“Great,” Yuzuru says, and, “I’m sorry I woke you up for this,” and “you should go back to sleep now, ok?”

His hand never leaves Shoma’s. It’s an anchor and it’s warmth and after Yuzuru lets himself out, Shoma curls up around it and holds it close to his chest, trying to keep the warmth in.

Friends.

Mihoko calls shortly after Shoma’s alarm wakes him up. He ends up meeting her for breakfast in the hotel restaurant.

When she sees him, Mihoko does a double take.

“Did you not sleep well?” she asks, concerned.

“No, I’m fine.” Shoma yawns, and stretches. “I just had some weird dreams.”

To term whatever happened last night a dream is about as correct as calling it anything else would be. Waking up, Shoma had not been entirely sure if he had been awake at all, if it had happened at all. Nothing in his hotel room betrayed Yuzuru’s presence, apart from the usual marks on his body.

Mihoko doesn’t look satisfied with his answer, but lets him be. She always knows when to push him, and when to give him space to think and figure everything out by himself. That’s why they work so well together, Shoma thinks. That’s why he can trust her, always.

They discuss his training schedule for the next few days, what he wants to practice during his ice time, about choreo changes that are necessary and ones that will give him some more freedom to improvise and explore his abilities. Then she drops the bomb.

“I won’t be able to be there with you for the next few shows, Shoma.”

He knows his face must betray his surprise, and maybe more, because she adds on quickly, rather than letting him think.

“Coach Machiko is calling back to choreograph for one of the girls moving up to seniors, you know her. And I know you can do without my supervision for a little while, right?”

Shoma nods, but doesn’t mean it. His non-verbal answer isn’t enough for Mihoko, who looks more and more concerned.

“Shoma, you don’t need me for the shows! Look, I can cancel if you really want me to, but I think it would be good. Like the training camps in America, right?”

She’s right, of course. Shoma knows he’ll be just fine, he’s just grown so used to having her by his side as a confidante and caretaker, a constant source of advice and wisdom. She’s been making sure everything he needs is always where he wants it, but these things shouldn’t always be provided. Sooner or later Shoma will have to take care of himself. He has, and he will again, it’s fine.

“It’s fine.”

Mihoko still doesn’t look convinced. Shoma forces a smile that she answers hesitantly.

“I won’t be alone,” Shoma gestures around, because there are, already, several other skaters in the restaurant. “There are lots of other skaters around, and their coaches and people, too. And there’ll always be the organizers, too.”

Mihoko nods. “Yes, exactly!”

“So I’ll be fine,” Shoma argues.

He doesn’t know when their conversation turned from her convincing him, to him being the one to convince her. It’s not like he’s entirely certain of it himself, but Mihoko deserves to do what she likes, too. Shoma is a lot of her life, but he knows how much Mihoko loves to choreograph. He can’t take that from her.

“I’ll be back in soon enough, anyway,” Mihoko smiles. She looks relieved, her eyes crinkling at the edges like they do when he’s done well, when she’s happy with him. He smiles back, for real this time.

“And then you can show me how much you’ve improved.”

“I’ll be able to do all the quads by then,” Shoma says, and Mihoko laughs at him.

“I’m sure.”

Over her shoulder, Shoma can see the door. People have been coming in idly, leaving looking satisfied, and Shoma hasn’t been paying much attention.

But now there’s a familiar shape walking in, the lanky frame almost unmistakable. Yuzuru is laughing, talking to Javi, who is a step behind him. They are leaning in to each other as they speak, eyes locked.

Intimate.

Something freezes in Shoma’s chest, a little. Some small hope that thought maybe friends meant a step towards something he stopped dreaming about a while ago. They are so close. There is no chance Shoma will ever be able to coax that kind of laughter from Yuzuru, to joke so carefree.

Mihoko turns around, and catches sight of them, and her sigh rips Shoma out of his thoughts.

“You know,” she starts, and leans over to him, leans closer so she can lower her voice to almost a whisper. She doesn’t try to touch him, very aware of the way he holds himself very carefully still.

“Sometimes I wonder if we handled everything right.” She sighs again. “Maybe we should have-“

“No,” Shoma interjects, because the what-ifs are useless and painful things that bury possibilities like thorns in his lungs.

Mihoko looks up at him, eyes narrowing.

“I saw him being obnoxious in practice yesterday. You talked to him?”

Shoma nods, looks away. He’s sure his face is giving something away, because Mihoko has the strange ability to read his feelings in even his blankest face.

“Do I need to speak to him-” she asks.

Shoma shakes his head, probably a bit too rapidly.

“His coach then. To tell him to leave you alone, if he is interrupting your practice.”

Shoma shakes his head again, because no.

“No, he’s not doing anything. We just talked.”

Mihoko nods, considering. He meets her gaze, hesitant, but she doesn’t look concerned as much as thoughtful. Considering.

“And did that talking interrupt your sleep?” She asks, pointed.

Shoma blushes.

“Oh, don’t be embarrassed, it’s inevitable that you think about him,” she teases, gently. But her voice turns serious on a turn, gentle but firm.

“Just don’t let him distract you, or hurt you. You’ve given him everything he wanted. Just remember you get to take the space that you need, too.”

Shoma looks up at her, into her dark, serious eyes, and considers this.

“I don’t think it’s like that,” He says, slowly. “He wants to try being friends for the cameras, you know?”

“That’s smart, maybe.” Mihoko nods like the conversation has ended, like she’s said what she wanted to say.

Shoma considers her, and the absence of her, in the coming days.

“I won’t let him get too close to me,” he says, slowly. “We’re not really anything. I know that.”

For a split second, Mihoko looks at him like he is breaking her heart, like there is a tragedy in those words that Shoma can’t possibly fully realize. Then she nods again, firmly.

“That’s smarter.”

***

Shoma doesn’t often dance, but he likes to go through his figures occasionally, practice the steps and extension that Mao, once upon a time, had taught him, and that he’d learned and relearned over time in several different ballet classes.

Almost every hotel they stay in has a practice room. When Shoma finds it, it’s empty. He puts in his earbuds and queues up his music: first the songs of his programs, past and present, and then, when the playlist seems quite short, some of the anime soundtrack he has saved as well.

He toes off his shoes and socks, and feels the hardwood floor warm and smooth against the soles of his feet. He brought a ball to roll his muscles out with, but it’s boring, and tedious, and he hates it.

So he runs through his past choreographies first, roughly checking if he remembers the step sequences and placements, trying to make up the parts he’s forgotten. It’s fun. It’s easy to lose himself in the process, to forget where he is and why he is doing it, and to just listen to the music and remember the movement, attempt to let it flow through his body.

For an hour or so, it almost feels peaceful.

Sometimes, this feels like the only thing that really matters, the moment swhen Shoma stops feeling like himself and starts feeling connected to, almost embedded in the music. It feels like all anxiety falls away from him and he can just be.

He falls on a axel.

Sitting there, knee smarting and red, the prospect seems hopeless. He’ll never make an audience experience the calm quiet, the feeling of freedom and excitement and release, all the emotions he feels when he’s skating, and sometimes, when he’s dancing like this.

The song shifts to something new, a familiar, if a bit melancholy tune. Shoma gets up. He continues.

When he leaves the practice room, his muscles feel lose and warm, his feet slightly battered but comfortable. He even rolled his muscles out and did his cool-down stretches.

He also missed the free morning practice.

“Please remember the actual show in the evening,” Mihoko laughs when he calls her. Shoma laughs with her, promises that he will.

***

Even though Mihoko leaves, Shoma falls back into the rapid routine of touring with a show. It’s a quick adjustment to something he’s been following but never quite actively part of: Shoma has skated with shows, but he’s never been part of the cast like he is now. It’s nice, though, to spot familiar faces of organizers and crew amongst the people of the rink. It’s nice to be in a different city every week, it’s nice to share practice times with so many people who love to skate.

It’s nice to hang out with Kanako, who joined the tour on the last stop, and with Mao, who is always flitting around between groups, with a kind word for everyone. Keiji is there for some shows, but off for others, as are Tatsuki and Nobu. They go to dinner together, after their little group collects him at his hotel room and heckle him to join.

It’s maybe a little much, at times. They’ve had a show every day for the past three days, when Shoma lies in bed one morning, and feels bone-deep exhausted. He lies there, phone ringing through the alarm. Then he lies there in silence.

The others will be worried, probably. He really should get up and join the free rink time scheduled for everyone to practice at their own time.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he turns onto his side, buries his face in the pillow, and breathes.

He falls back asleep after staring at the wall for a while.

When he wakes up, he feels unfocused, sort of slow and liquid. It’s too early to go to the rink for the evening run-through before the show, so he seeks out the practice room in the hotel to do through some stretches, his routines for the night and the group number, maybe.

If he falls while he dances, landing his jumps dry, Shoma doesn’t really notice. He immerses himself in the music, in the extension of his arms and the tension of his core, and lets everything go.

He ends up abandoning the choreographies halfway through the second song, instead moving as he pleases, falling in and out of familiar patterns, part old routines, part practiced ballet forms. His new program is a tango, and Shoma can’t quite get the feeling of it right.

He thinks about Daisuke’s tango, the way Daisuke’s body moves in the music, and tries to copy it, but it doesn’t quite fit the music, which is intense and frantic, rather than alluring.

It’s a mess, and Shoma comes out of his session tense and hunched.

The evening practice doesn’t make it better. He’s early, having been anxious to get onto the ice, but his warm-up jumps feel shaky, and Shoma can feel himself hunching over, shoulders around his ears and face blank. It keeps everybody else away, too, but he catches some concerned glances.

He doesn’t notice that Yuzuru and Javi arrive when he’s already almost though his time slot, but he’s not shooed off the ice, so somebody must have put a nice word in for him.

They’re talking quietly to each other, walking close enough for their shoulders to touch every other step. Yuzuru stops by the boards to place his jacket and bottle just so, while Javi must have tossed his stuff in some corner, and is already on the ice.

Shoma prepares for his next jump, planning his path around the rink, when Javi catches up to him, skating up beside him.

“Shoma!” Javi is jovial as usual, his voice carrying a little too far, making Shoma flinch. Javi reigns his volume in with a smile and a shrug.

“You weren’t at practice this morning! Is everything alright?” Javi pronounces in carefully slow English.

Shoma carefully hides his surprise. Javi and him don’t speak much, because Shoma’s English is atrocious, and Javi’s Japanese rather basic. They also have very little in common: Where Shoma is shy and intense, Javi is friendly and easy-going. It’s unexpected that Javi would notice Shoma’s absence, unless..

He could pretend not to understand, and cut the conversation off right then, but Shoma can’t help but be curious. He looks around, but Yuzuru is on the other side of the rink and facing away, and there are no other skaters close enough to care.

Shoma adjusts his speed to Javi’s, so they can skate comfortably next to each other, and catches sight of Javi’s surprised smile when he looks up at him. He can’t help but smile back.

“I’m ok,” Shoma says, in his quiet, probably mispronounced, English.

Javi nods, encouraging. Shoma’s smile inadvertently grows a little. He shouldn’t feel this proud, probably, but it is hard to help it.  

“I… slept a lot.”

Javi nods, his smile turning mischievous.

“Is that so?” he asks. “So why does Yuzuru report some new bruises?”

Shoma can feel his eyes grow wide, and Javi laughs.

“No worries, I am not telling.”

“He told you!?” Shoma brings out, accidentally switching back to Japanese. Augh.

Javi laughs again, and attempts to knock their shoulder together companionably. It doesn’t work, because he has some height over Shoma, so he just ends up knocking his upper arm against Shoma’s shoulder.

He understands just fine, though, because his answer comes in Japanese.

“Yuzu is quite bad at keeping secrets from me. So is Brian.”

“Oh,” Shoma breathes out.

“Besides, Yuzu is my friend. I tell him things and he tells me things, so we can help each other decide.” Javi nods. “Yuzuru does not always make the best choices for himself, but he tries hard to be good.”

Shoma stares at him, with what he hopes is his patented blank face, but what probably looks more like blank surprise at this admission. Blank shock at this entire exchange, probably.

What is Shoma supposed to do with this information?

Before Shoma can decide on what to say, Javi laughs again, throws his arm around Shoma’s shoulder in a quick side hug, and skates away.

Shoma feels mildly ambushed.

He watches Javi take on enough speed to set up a comfortable quad toe, which he lands beautifully. He’s good. He’s also charming enough that his celebratory fist in the air after the jump lead to some amused laughter and clapping from the people watching from the boards.

Shoma catches sight of Yuzuru, who is skating up to Javi now, laughing. He’s not looking at Shoma at all.

***

So that’s that, for a while. Shoma doesn’t obsess over it, because there is a lot of other things to do.

The show moves to the next city, and Shoma spends the time on the bus texting Mihoko, and then Keiji, and for the first time in weeks, he’ll sleep at a home. Not his home, but not a hotel room.

The thought makes him smile.

On the train, Shoma sits with Kanako.

“So, staying with your boyfriend, huh?” Kanako laughs, and Shoma can feel heat rising up his neck and ears.

He looks at her kind of panicked, because Yuzuru is sitting just a few seats over, and sure, he has his headphones on but who knows if he’s even listening to anything.

Javi, next to him, seems busy on his phone, but he has definitely heard, because he looks up.

Shoma quickly looks away, but he knows Javi knows he was checking.

“Why do you always have to embarrass me?” he complains, instead. Quietly.

Kanako laughs, and knocks her shoulder against his.

“Who is going to coax some expressions out of you, if not me,” she says, and it’s criticism, but she sounds fond.

“Maybe Coach Machiko can!” Shoma replies, like a peace offering.

“Ahh!” Kanako laughs, “That’ mean!”

She elbows him into the side, laughing, and he laughs with her.

Kanako has known him since he was a child. She doesn’t know about the Yuzuru thing, but Shoma realizes that he wants to tell her. If there is one person in the skating world who would understand his situation, it would be her.

They both decide to nap for the rest of the ride, and Shoma gets to lean his head against Kanako’s shoulder. It’s not perfectly comfortable, but she’s warm and he’s missed her rather a lot. A little discomfort is worth it.

Shoma wakes up to someone having a rather intense whispered conversation. He can’t understand any of the words, and can’t quite parse why before he realizes that it is the whispered English rather than a sudden brain malfunction, that confuses him.

It’s Yuzuru, of course. He sounds off, almost distraught. Shoma closes his eyes, tries to tune it out.

Everybody else is quiet, probably sleeping as well.

Kanako sighs next to him, adjusting her position. Shoma doesn’t dare to breathe.

He’s been seeing Yuzuru and Javi hanging out a lot; it’s not like he can avoid them completely. He tries to avoid Yuzuru as much as possible, and just smiles and nods at him when they do have to skate on the same ice, but Yuzuru hasn’t tried to really talk to him for the past few days, either.

The conversation they had in his hotel room, bizarre as it had been, seems more and more like a dream.

Or maybe, Shoma had just been right in his assumption that Yuzuru just wants to keep it civil for the media, and remain, well, basically strangers. It makes sense, Yuzuru hadn’t wanted to get to know him before, why would he change his mind now.

Whatever Yuzuru wants or does not want, Shoma certainly does not want to listen to Yuzuru fight with Javi, not when their friendship is usually close enough to make Shoma wonder about whether they are maybe more than just friends.

Shoma sighs, and buries his head Kanako’s shoulder. She moves closer to him in her sleep, and Shoma can’t help but smile at that. At least he has friends that like him, even in their sleep.

The whispers stop when Shoma moves, and he blinks his eyes open. He can only see parts of Yuzuru and Javi, but he can tell they are looking at him. He can’t imagine why; they must know that of all the people here, Shoma would not understand whatever they were talking about? Regardless, Shoma will pretend to be sleeping until this situation goes away.

He can’t quite shake the feeling that they were talking about him, though. Why else would they stop talking as soon as he shifted, when everybody else didn’t really bother them?

Kanako’s breathing lulls him back to sleep, and she shakes him awake what seems just minutes later, when they arrive. Keiji is waiting on the platform even though it’s quite late in the evening. He throws a friendly arm around Shoma’s back, and pulls him in for a hug.

Shoma does not usually like hugs much, but he’ll suffer the physical affection if it makes his friends happy. If he leans into the hug a little, hugs Keiji back a little harder than he usually would, well.

The tour has been tough, and it turns out that touch can be quite comforting.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets are shared, hugs are received, and realizations are had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't reply to the comments on the last chapter! I've been traveling, so internet has been scarce! But I appreciated every single one and they gave me a lot of motivation, so thank you!!!!

“So that was weird,” Keiji notes drily once they’ve arrived at his apartment. Shoma laughs, shrugs.

“Yeah, It’s been.. a week.”

Keiji catches his eyes, smiles encouragingly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Shoma shrugs again. “Maybe later.”

Keiji lets him keep this secrets, shrugs back at him and accepts that Shoma will tell him when he’s ready. Considering the state of things, Shoma might never be ready. Sometimes he wishes Keiji were a little more pushy, but Keiji is respectful unless it comes to complaining about bowel movements. And even then his solutions are frequently passive aggressive.

There is a reason they are close friends.

They end up sharing dinner on the couch, and playing a game Keiji has wanted to try for a long time.

“Ahhhhhhh-“

“Did you just spill sauce on my couch?” Keiji asks, and laughs.

Shoma can’t help but look sheepish. He is a guest in Keiji’s home and he’s behaving kind of abysmally. It’s not usual, so he isn’t stressed about it. Keiji knows what he is in for, with Shoma, but.

“Sorry-“

“Eh, this couch is shit anyway. Augh, shit shit shit, on your left, on your left!! Shoot him!!” Keiji yells, and spills sauce on himself. They put their food to the side after that, and focus on the game.

It’s painfully familiar, from rooming together during their junior days, when they’d reconvene in their room after competition to lay on the bed and play games on Keiji’s laptop.

They win the fight by the skin of their teeth, Keiji screaming the entire time.

“Maybe you’d skate better if you could scream throughout?” Shoma suggests, once they’re through and their characters get to continue their quest. 

Keiji just throws him the stink eye. “I could try that, but I think I would get negative GOE.”

“You could scream very quietly?” Shoma grins, and Keiji tilts his head, considering.

“I isn’t that what Satoko does.”

Shoma bursts out laughing, because Satoko is perhaps the quietest person he knows, and he is… well, he’s himself. Keiji leans over and knocks his shoulder into Shoma’s, grins down at him.

“Please work hard to go to Worlds next season?”

Keiji smiles, nods.

“We’ll go together.”

They don’t talk about Yuzuru, whose attendance is inevitable. They just take him as a given and decide to work hard towards second and third place.

Keiji notices Shoma’s face slipping.

“You know you didn’t do badly, right? I know you feel like you’ve disappointed, but you had a great season. You slipped up once, and you can’t let that pull you down.”

He means well, and he’s half-right. Shoma still feels like he could have done better, but he’d been jetlagged and overwhelmed by the experience, and so his skating had suffered.

“It isn’t that-“ Shoma starts, then hesitated.

Keiji hums, smiles at him. “What is it then?”

Shoma looks at him, his kind face. Keiji works hard, but he also studies hard, intent on building a life outside of skating. It is important to him, but it isn’t everything.

There is no path into Shoma’s future that doesn’t include skating. Hasn’t been since he set foot on the ice as a five year old. Hasn’t been since Mao called out to him, really. That had been a turning point in his life, and he doesn’t doubt that he has made the right choices along the way, even when the triple axel refused to be landed. Even when he thought he might never be able to compete with the top skaters.

“Do you think I will ever be able to beat him?”

Shoma doesn’t have to explain who “he” is. Keiji knows, because Keiji has been wondering the same thing since he had turned senior. Now, he tilts his head, and considers Shoma. His face slowly breaks into a smile.

“You know he’s kind of been waiting for you.”

Shoma can feel his face freeze, his expression shutter. Keiji doesn’t notice, smiling down at his hands around the controller.

“You’ll catch up with him, for sure. You may not think you are on his level, but he thinks you can be.”

Shoma’s voice comes out shaky: “What do you mean?”

Keiji looks up, surprised.

“Do we have to talk about how you are genuinely, properly good, again?” He says it with a smile, so Shoma smiles back at him, hesitantly. Of course Keiji would say that.

Of course there isn’t anything more to Yuzuru’s attention than that, than keeping an eye on a competitor.

The silence lasts for a long while, and they return their attention to the game.

Which obviously, of course, has a romantic plot that Keiji doggedly pursues.

“Nooo!” Shoma groans. “Don’t flirt with her!”

Keiji grins at him and continues picking the flirtiest answers possible. The character, of course, decides to join their party.

The character, of course, is revealed to be Keiji’s character’s soulmate.

Keiji finally joins Shoma in his groaning.

“Why?”

Shoma shrugs. “I told you not to flirt.”

Keiji groans more, theatrical, and throws the controller down onto the couch, away from him.

“I don’t even have a soulmate, why do creators have to put soulmates everywhere?!”

Shoma sighs, puts his controller to the side as well. He picks up his food, which has gone cold, and eats a bite. It’s still good.

Keiji peaks out from under the arm he’d thrown over his face in desperation.

“Aren’t you going to ask me about it?”

Shoma shrugs, tilts his head. “Why? I mean. About 40% of the population don’t have a soulmate. It’s not that unusual.”

Keiji groans, again. “Way to make me feel special, Sho.”

Shoma grins, reaches out to pat Keiji’s head. “You’re special to me, Keiji.”

“Thanks.”

“It is.. it’s kind of unfair, though,” Shoma continues, after a long, drawn-out pause, “that there is such a focus on soulmates, when so many people don’t have any.”

Keiji sits up, faces Shoma. Shoma should tell him. He thinks about how much he wanted to tell Kanako, before. He was fine, keeping this close to his chest, but ever since Yuzu came to him and proposed friendship, Shoma has wanted to talk. To hear advice, to know that he isn’t alone.

It’s time, and Keiji would keep this secret. And Shoma could finally explain, maybe, why he tends to disappear when they compete internationally. Why he tends to hate interviews, when he’s always, always asked about Yuzuru, and when Yuzuru is the last person he wants to speak about.

Keiji would probably know what to do with Yuzuru’s behavior, with that dream-like conversation, with all the weird events since. Keiji probably knows if Yuzu and Javi are more than friends. Keiji would help him make sense of it all.

But Shoma can’t quite get the words out. How is he supposed to say this, anyway?

He draws his sweater over his hands, pulls his knees up to his chest.

Keiji could probably find a way to make everything less weird and awkward, if only Shoma could explain his predicament.

“It isn’t even just that,” Keiji says, slowly. He’s looking at Shoma intently, and Shoma feels, suddenly, like Keiji knows. Knows more than Shoma thinks, at least, even if he doesn’t know all of it, or the details, at least.

“It’s that even people who have soulmates don’t always end up with them.”

Shoma looks up, startled.

“It’s not like a soulmate is the end-all and be-all. If they were, people without such bruises wouldn’t fall in love, and get married or have children. I think it’s just that it’s easier, maybe. With a soulmate.”

Keiji drifts off, meets Shoma’s eye and smiles.

“But what do I know!”

“A lot.” Shoma answers, too sincere. “You’re awful, you always say the right thing.”

Keiji laughs, presses his hands to his cheeks.

“I _am_ very special, after all!”

“Yeah,” Shoma grins, “It makes me want to scream.”

They go to sleep soon after, Shoma on a guest futon, Keiji in his room, which has a proper bed.

“You have the living room all to yourself,” Keiji jokes, before he heads off. “I remember your insomniac tendencies!”

Shoma remembers that, too, from rooming together. How he couldn’t come to rest unless the room was entirely quiet, how he’d wake up drained even though he likes and appreciates Keiji’s company. Even earplugs hadn’t helped. Keiji, back then, had gotten to make copious amounts of introvert jokes on Shoma’s expense.

Now, in Keiji’s living room, the futon crammed between the couch and the TV stand, Shoma comes to rest a little quicker.

***

Keiji is set to perform as a guest act in the next few shows, so he joins Shoma on his way to practice. They arrive at the arena early, and get permission to go on the ice first, starting slow laps around the rink.

It’s strange, without Mihoko there to ask Shoma how he feels, to watch him like a hawk and tell him what to practice, tell him how to improve. He has to take stock of his condition by himself, testing his jumps one by one, stretching at the boards to figure out whether he’s in form for jump training, or whether it would be better to run through his program again, trying to figure out how to make it work.

Keiji laughs at him as he skates by. His coach isn’t here, either.

“Entirely convinced I can do this show by myself,” Keiji had laughed this morning, when Shoma had asked. “I’ll just do a few run-throughs, get used to the ice. It’s just a show, after all.”

Shoma doesn’t understand how Keiji can be so relaxed, when there is an audience waiting to take apart his performance in just a few hours. Of course Keiji, too, wants to deliver a good performance. Shoma does not doubt that. He just seems to not need his coach there.

Shoma wants Mihoko there. Even though this is just a show and not a competition, people will care if Shoma pops a jump or falls. He won’t be able to move them like he wants to, to perform like he should.

The rink hasn’t filled up yet when Keiji has a terrible idea. The worst.

“Hey!” Keiji yells, as Shoma passes him, “Watch!”

And he launches himself into a triple Axel while letting out a blood curling scream.

Shoma flinches.

A few of the other skaters startle, too. There are, luckily, no falls.

“What the fuck?” yells Stéphane, in his lovely accent. He sounds exasperated more than he sounds angry, so Keiji just laughs. He explains, in broken English.

“We had a theory. Screaming makes skating better!”

Stéphane shakes his head at him. “Please don’t do that again.” He skates off, and Keiji joins Shoma.

Shoma pushes him away, laughing at him. “No. Negative GOE. No-” Keiji makes a put out face.

“I want nothing to do with you.”

Keiji throws an arm around Shoma’s shoulder and pulls him in as Shoma protests, still laughing helplessly.

“I didn’t think you would really do that!”

Keiji just ruffled Shoma’s hair and laughs. Shoma can’t breathe.

“I’ll never forget that, oh-”

Shoma flails, impersonating Keiji’s scream-jump, and Keiji laughs even harder. It takes Shoma a while to calm back down enough to resume proper practice. It’s a little easier to focus, though.

***

The show goes well, Shoma doesn’t fall at all, and he is a little proud of how well he controlled his edges during his new step sequence. Keiji extricates both of them expertly from any plans the other skaters have made for dinner, wraps his arm around Shoma’s shoulder and they’re off.

Shoma can hear Kanako yelling after them, laughter audible in her voice.

“Enjoy your dinner date, you two!”

Shoma has been expertly avoiding Yuzu and Javi during practice and the show, but obviously they pass them on their way out. It’s also obvious they both heard Kanako. Yuzuru’s eyes widen, and he turns to Javi, who keeps a straight face, and nods at them.

Shoma can feel himself shrink under their attention, shoulders drawing up around his ears.

Keiji pulls Shoma a little closer to his side, and smiles at the two of them. Shoma watches with growing horror as Keiji grins and nods back at them, kind of cocky, before he pulls Shoma away.

They don’t talk for most of the way back, but Keiji turns to Shoma as soon as they are through the door.

“So, want to finish playing that game we abandoned last night?”

And Shoma should have known that Keiji would not confront him about the weird situation they just faced. He should have known that Keiji understands, that Keiji will never push him to confess something he isn’t comfortable with. Keiji, instead, will ignore and distract and joke until Shoma feels better.

The game, though, is not as good a distraction as Shoma wished. Halfway through the next fight, Shoma’s XP almost depleted, Keiji’s next to untouched because he now has a soulmate advantage, Keiji pauses the game.

“This is stupid.”

He drops the controller into his lap again, and sighs deeply.

Shoma nods. “Yeah, I’m sorry for being bad at this game.”

Keiji looks up, meets Shoma’s eyes.

“That’s not what I mean. The game isn’t fair.”

Shoma nods. Keiji doesn’t let the silence seep in. Instead he says, quick like pulling off a band aid:

“Do you ever think about what it’ll really be like?”

For a moment, Shoma considers lying, considers telling Keiji that he doesn’t really have a soulmate. He doesn’t, after all. Not really. All Shoma has are weird, suddenly appearing bruises, and a really awkward relationship with a co-competitor.

But he’s been wearing long sleeves all the time lately, and he’s been changing in the bathroom. It’s unlikely that Keiji won’t know that Shoma isn’t telling the truth, and anyway. He can just tell him he doesn’t want to talk about it. Keiji would let him do that.

Instead, he does what he wanted to do last night. He’s honest.

“Honestly, it’s not that great.”

Keiji hums, knocks his shoulder into Shoma’s to encourage him.

“It’s kind of dumb, because you constantly see the pain of whoever it is. Like, it’s just bruises, you don’t even feel them, and so it doesn’t really connect you to whoever it is? But you know when they are hurt. And they’re just out there, living their own life, so you can’t even stop them from pushing themselves too hard. It’s stupid, it doesn’t make you stronger like in the video game.”

Keiji nods, understanding, and Shoma knows he could stop talking about this now, and Keiji would let it rest. But now that he’s started talking, the hurt flows out of him. It feels good, to let go of all that bitterness.

“And like you said: most people don’t have soulmates, and really, they aren’t necessary. I don’t need him. He’s certainly decided he doesn’t need me.”

Shoma can hear his voice go frantic, with an angry twist to it. He stops at a gasp, curls up. Keiji makes a hurt little noise in the back of his throat.

“If he really knew you he wouldn’t say that.”

Shoma laughs, bitter. “He does know me.”

“Wait,” Keiji sounds surprised, but Shoma isn’t going to check. He’s very busy looking at his knees, pulls up to his chest, and feeling small.

“Wait, you know who it is?”

Shoma nods.

“Do you want to tell me?”

It’s such an odd question that Shoma can’t help but look up at Keiji. He is smiling, a little sadly.

“I’d like to know, just so I can kick his ass.”

Shoma laughs, the notion so ridiculous.

“If you did, all of Japan would come after you. Maybe you can just chase Yuzuru with a broom instead?”

His voice cracks in the middle of that statement, but it feels good to finally say it. It’s an admission Shoma has never had to make. All the people who know heard it back when Shoma had first realized. Mihoko, Shoma’s and Yuzuru’s parents, Yuzuru’s coaches. Everybody who needed to know to deal with this complication was right there when they did the test. Until now, they’ve been good at avoiding it, ignoring it.

Keiji’s eyebrows rise, but he doesn’t look as surprised as he should.

“Okay.”

Shoma expects him to say more, but Keiji just thinks for a moment.

“I mean, I can do that, but I feel like there is better candidates than me that could give him a broom chasing.”

Shoma shrugs. “Yeah. I figured.”

“So I take it you’ve known for a while?”

Shoma nods, feels his face heat a little. Keiji doesn’t ask when, and Shoma is, for a split second, incredibly thankful for that. Shoma feels better, now that he’s admitted this secret. He doesn’t want Keiji to know how long he’s been carrying this around.

“And he said he doesn’t _want_ you?”

Keiji sounds like he can’t believe that, but Shoma nods. It’s true. It’s maybe not exactly how Mihoko had explained it, then, but that’s the gist of it: Yuzuru had taken one look at Shoma and decided that he wasn’t worth it.

This is another thing Keiji doesn’t have to know.

“So,” Shoma jokes weakly. “Do you still think Yuzu was waiting for me to turn senior and join him at the top?”

It doesn’t come out as a joke, like he meant it. Keiji frowns, considers this. Even just the fact that he has to think about it, that he considers it, feels nice.

Shoma sinks into that moment of silence like it’s comfort. He lets his knees slide back down, and lets himself lean into Keiji, whose shoulder is a solid weight against Shoma’s.

It takes Keiji a while to decide what to say, but Shoma can wait. He’s still marveling at the novelty of someone else knowing. It’s nice, to finally get some input from someone who isn’t directly involved, other than competing and being friendly with both of them.

“I still think that’s the truth.”

Shoma darts a look at him. Keiji continues, looking back at him.

“I’m not sure why Yuzu said that, but I know that Yuzuru has been watching you for a while. So whatever reasons he had… they don’t have anything to do with skating.”

Shoma hums, considers this.

“That’s good to know. You know, we haven’t really talked for years, but he came up to me a few days ago. He asked to be friends.”

“Is that good?” Keiji asks. His eyes are soft.

“It’s confusing.” Shoma tilts his head. “I was okay avoiding him? But knowing he doesn’t want me, apart from friendly rivalry, makes me feel like this offer isn’t genuine, you know?”

Keiji nods. “It feels like a trap?”

Shoma smiles, relieved. “Yeah. Kind of.”

They sit in silence in a while, before Keiji moves, breaking their contact, and turns to properly face Shoma.

“I’m going to ask you something and you do not have to answer.”

His eyes are serious, and his mouth set in a frown. Shoma nods his permission.

“Do you have feelings for him?”

Shoma closes his eyes, lets the question sink in. There is no easy answer. There is also no easy away to avoid answering.

“I don’t know.” It what he says. “I think I could have? But not-“

He drifts off, but Keiji nods. “Not after feeling hurt.”

Shoma nods, relieved. “Yeah.”

Keiji is maybe putting words into Shoma’s mouth, but it is a truth Shoma has to confront. He’s been avoiding it for so long, this question: Does he have feelings for Yuzuru? _Can_ he have feelings for Yuzuru?

It doesn’t matter, now. What matters is that Shoma is a little hurt. It’s a nice, clean clarification for something that has felt messy and ugly for a long time. He’s just hurt. That’s something Shoma can work to fix by himself.

“Do you think you can try to be friends with him, anyway?”

Shoma tilts his head, considering. “Maybe.”

“I mean. You won’t be able to avoid interactions with him, now that you’re going to be in all the same competitions. It maybe doesn’t have to be genuine, but you’ll have to pretend to be friendly, at least. Especially if you plan to keep this secret.”

It’s true. Shoma can probably pretend. It’s not that he actively dislikes Yuzuru, he doesn’t really know him at all. It’s more that it will be difficult to let him be close, without thinking about all the could have beens. He sighs.

Keiji rips him out of his thoughts when he suddenly giggles.

“Huh, now Yuzuru’s face when we walked out before is even weirder.”

“What do you mean?”

“Shoma,” Keiji says, imploring. “He looked kind of jealous.”

Shoma can’t help but laugh.

“I think he was just weirded out. I don’t think he knows I have friends.”

Keiji shakes his head. “No, he definitely knows that.”

Shoma has to smile, because Keiji has his back. This soulmate thing, it’s not really a fight in which there is sides: There is no fight. But Keiji understands Shoma, and he’s his friend.

Keiji opens his arms, and grins.

“Hey. Do you want a hug?”

Shoma picks up his controller. The truth is out. Now there is one person in the world who Shoma has no secrets from, and he’s an awful hugger.

“That’s ok, thank you.” Keiji drops his arms and fishes for his own controller.

“Cool. Let’s win this game instead.”

***

Shoma has never been the best at keeping friendships alive, but after a few days of stinking up Keiji’s couch, and going to practice together, he’s pretty certain that if they hadn’t been before, now they are friends for life.

People say that trauma bonds, right?

Well, the aftermath of three back-to-back performance days, plus practice to keep their technical skills intact, probably count as trauma. Smelling Keiji’s feet after a long time in skating boots definitely does. But then, Keiji has to deal with Shoma’s.. well, everything, so Shoma doesn’t complain.

He’s maybe a little relieved and looking forward to his own room, when Keiji drives Shoma to the airport to meet up with the other skaters that fly to the next city.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Keiji shakes his head at Shoma. “I do nine shows in the off-season and I feel like dying.”

Shoma laughs. “I don’t have any sponsorships, so..”

They hug goodbye in the car, because finding parking space is a nightmare and Keiji has to head to class right after dropping Shoma off. He’d be lying if he didn’t wish Keiji could join the tour fully. The past few shows were a lot of fun, because they could work on escaping quad battles together. It worked quite well, mostly because Javi and Yuzuru, the main instigators of quad battles, let them be when Shoma and Keiji were talking. Or even just standing next to each other.

He falls asleep as soon as he is seated, and doesn’t wake up until the landing shakes him awake. He feels blurry. He doses while waiting for his suitcases at bag drop, and then goes to find a ride to the hotel.

***

Checking in hadn’t been a problem. Shoma slept, woke up at a ridiculous hour in the morning, texted Keiji and Mihoko and his parents that he’d made it, and fell back sleep.

He went to practice.

Shoma traces his actions back, step by step, but he cannot remember where he put his key card. They gave him a piece of plastic when he checked in, green and yellow. It looked like a gift card, or a credit card, and it is gone.

Shoma sets his bags down with shaky hands, and starts patting himself down, again. He has checked every pocket, both of his jacket and pants and of his workout back and backpack, but there’s nothing.

It feels silly to unpack his bags completely in the corridor before his hotel door, where anyone could walk by at any moment but Shoma does: The card isn’t with his boots, it isn’t with his soaked through practice outfit or in the small pocket that houses his deodorant and shampoo.

It’s just gone.

He can’t remember what the consequences of losing a key card is. It must be expensive.

Usually, Mihoko keeps his key card on her during practice. It’s not that she doesn’t trust Shoma to keep track of his things, it’s just that he is usually so focused on training or competition that he doesn’t really need the extra responsibility.

Ok, so maybe Mihoko does not trust Shoma to keep track of his things. She’s obviously right not to, because Shoma has misplaced his key card and is going to pay a fortune to make up for it.

He can feel his heart beating faster, air rushing in and out.

Hah, fuck. Fuck.

Shoma tries the door again, as if it would magically open, pats himself down again like there is a secret pocket on his body that will reveal to have carried the key card. He checks his wallet, even though he’s certain it isn’t there.

It isn’t.

Maybe he left it back at the rink.

Maybe it would be smart to go check there, before calling Mihoko and worrying her, or telling the hotel staff. He should go back.

Shoma turns around, air still swishing in and out of his lungs like something liquid, heavy and hard to breathe, and starts walking. He keeps an eye on the floor, tracing back.

If he has left it in the shuttle he won’t be able to get the key card back.

He gets back on the bus that stops close to the rink. He knows it goes every half an hour because he had printed out the schedule and checked online, so he must have spent at least twenty minutes checking his bags.

It has to be at the rink.

And if it isn’t, that’s ok. It’s going to be pricy but he can live with it. It will be fine. It will be fine.

Shoma tries to calm his breath, tries the exercise that he has been practicing before competitions, back when those scared him. They do, still, but not like this. Not like he feels right now.

He hasn’t felt this way since-

He stood in a hospital room, staring at the tiled floor, while Mihoko wrapped a warm arm around his shoulders. The man, saying something in English, then an exhausted voice explaining.

Shoma sucks in air. He hasn’t felt like this in so long, he’s forgotten how bad it can feel, chest constricted and sweat beading on his forehead.

He sighs, out. Breathes in slowly, slowly.

Wishes Mihoko was here, or Keiji and Kanako, who would make fun of him for being such a slob, and who would help him search regardless. But Keiji is at home, where Shoma left him, and Kanako is probably doing the tourist thing with Mao.

Breathes out. It will be fine. It’s not the end of the world, it is just really, really stupid.

When he arrives at the rink, his breathing has calmed back to normal, though Shoma’s heartrate is still rapid. There is dumb hope growing in his chest that maybe he can find the key card and it will all be fine and no one will have to know. Shoma can just tell them he slept all afternoon and everybody will believe it.

Except.

“Hi,” says Yuzuru, who has a knack for meeting Shoma when Shoma is at his most vulnerable.

Shoma nods, tries to walk past.

“Hey, wait. What are you doing here?”

Shoma looks back at Yuzuru, whose eyes are wide and curious. He looks fully at ease with himself, even in civilian clothes. He has either just finished training – unlikely, since his hair is clean and dry- or he is about to start, which would make sense, since Yuzuru probably has scheduled private ice time somehow. Being the ace of your country, Shoma guesses, must come with major perks.

“You aren’t scheduled for ice time-“ Yuzuru continues. He cuts off abruptly, but the implication is clear.

“I checked” goes unsaid.

Shoma winces. The lengths Yuzuru goes to avoid him are rather obvious. He still doesn’t understand why Yuzuru offered his friendship when he works so hard to do everything to make it not happen.

The strange sense of intimacy they shared has long disappeared. They’ve been back to painfully awkward and unsure for the past ice shows, and Shoma hates it. He hates everything about this.

Yuzuru looks at him expectantly, so Shoma can’t just leave. He swallows, hard.

“I, uh, I’m looking for my key card. I think I left it around here.”

Yuzuru’s head tilts. “Your hotel key card?”

When Shoma nods, he smiles. Shoma’s stomach drops. Maybe Yuzuru has found it!

“I can help you look!”

Or not. Shoma can’t help but sigh.

“No, that’s okay.” He bows his thanks, and turns to head to the changing rooms. Maybe the key card had fallen out of his pocket while he was changing?

He notices only five steps later that Yuzuru is following. He’s smiling, a little.

Yuzuru is wearing his training clothes under his normal clothes. It’s a weird little fact that Shoma knew, but had thought happened only at competitions, when there were cameras everywhere and everyone felt awkward changing, but no. Yuzuru takes off his sweater to reveal his usual black underarmor.

Shoma keeps looking under benches he never got close to, checks the locker he had put his bag in and every locker around it, just in case. The key card is nowhere to be found.

The only upside is that Yuzuru’s presence means Shoma cannot allow himself to freak out over this, because Yuzuru would notice and who knows what he would do.

The silence is tense.

Yuzuru takes off his jeans. Shoma sees out of the corner of his eye, tries to keep his back to Yuzu while that is happening, and shuffles awkwardly over to the door to leave.

“Hey, Shoma?” Yuzuru sounds like he’s smiling, but Shoma will not turn to check. Underarmor or no, he doesn’t need the mental imagery of Yuzuru taking his pants off. No one should have that mental imagery, and yet, cameras have captured the event regardless.

Shoma sighs, stays turned to the door, nods to show that he is listening.

“Good luck. I hope you find your key card.”

Shoma doesn’t.

He returns to the hotel downtrodden. He isn’t even panicking anymore; he just feels defeated. Tears prickle behind his eyes, but he isn’t going to let them out until he had a door to lock behind him.

On his way to the front desk, he rehearses what he is going to say, so he doesn’t have to linger while trying to explain.

“Hello,” he says to the lady at the reception desk. She looks up, smiles. She doesn’t say anything further, just turns around and walks to the cupboard with the key cards, and takes one.

“I think this is yours. Uno, Shoma in Room 345, right?”

Shoma can feel his eyes grow wide, because yes.

“Did someone find it and return it?”

She looks confused, for a moment, but then her face settles back into a smile. This one is a little more mischievous than polite.

“You could say that..”

Shoma can feel tension drown from his entire body as she hands the key card over.

“Here you go. Make sure to attach it to your phone or your key chain, if you have one. Don’t just carry it by itself.”

Shoma nods, bows a little. “Thank you so much.”

He swears he hears her laugh at him when he turns to walk to his room, but that’s probably just his awkwardness.

When he reaches his room, he falls into bed exhausted. He does sleep for the rest of the afternoon, too. Just to make his excuse valid, of course.

***

Somebody is knocking on his door, disrupting his nap. Shoma lifts his head, blinking the sleep from his eyes, and feels a disturbing sense of deja-vu. When he opens the door, it is Kanako’s cheerful face that greets him.

Too cheerful.

She shoulders her way into his room and immediately opens the window.

When Kanako turns back to him, her grin has, impossibly, grown wider, and Shoma experiences a terrible sense of foreboding.

“Hello, sleepyhead.”

“…Hi?”

“So,” Kanako cheerfully continues, “did anything exciting happen today?”

She sits down cross-legged on his unmade bed and stares at Shoma, grin in place.

Sometimes Shoma wonders why he chooses the worst humans as his friends, but then he remembers that Keiji is genuinely nice and just wonders about Kanako, who is up to something.

He settles for a careful head shake, and sits down next to her.

“So you slept all afternoon?”

Shoma nods, just as careful.

“So why did Yuzuru Hanyu call me,” she looks at the watch on her wrist for show, “Some four hours ago, and asked about your room number?”

Shoma can feel his eyes grow huge. Kanako cackles.

“Did he surprise you? Did you already replace Keiji?”

Shoma can feel himself blushing.

“What? Why would I be replacing Keiji with Yuzuru?”

Kanako shakes her head at him. “Oh, Shoma.”

“What?”

“You are really dumb.” Shoma pulls a tragic face at that, and she laughs. “Do tell me what happened, though?”

“I lost my key card, and I went to the rink to look for it.”

“And Yuzuru helped you?”

Shoma looks at her, confused. “No. He was just there, preparing for practice.”

Kanako’s eyes narrow. “He didn’t even offer to help? Rude!”

Shoma laughs. “No, no no. I told him not to bother. I wouldn’t want him to waste practice time on something like that. And now I think he did find the key card, because when I came back to the hotel, the receptionist had it. And apparently, he called you to confirm it was mine!”

“But,” Kanako tilts her head. “Why would he find your card, return it, and then watch you search, and then call me?”

It doesn’t make any sense, she’s right. And then there is the lady at reception, and her amused laughter.

“Oh.” Shoma breathes. “I don’t think he _found_ it.”

Kanako raises her eyebrow at him, grins. “So what did he do?”

“I think he called the front desk and asked them to replace it.”

That also makes no sense, but it makes more sense than the other option. Shoma just doesn’t understand--

“Why would he do that?”

Exactly. They sit in silence, for a moment. Kanako is rarely serious, but her next question doesn’t contain any mockery or joke.

“Shoma.. what is going on between you and Yuzu?”

When he just looks at her, considering, she smiles, a little.

“I know you make fun a lot, about you and Keiji, but I know you guys are just friends. I’m sorry if I’ve made things awkward with my joking.”

“No,” Shoma shakes his head, smiles. “No, I know. It’s fine. I just-”

Just a week ago, what feels like a billion shows ago, they’d sat in a train and he had wanted to tell her about everything. Talking to Keiji had helped, but Shoma would still like for Kanako to know as well. He doesn’t know if he has the right to spread this secret further, or of it even counts as a secret at all now that more than five people know, but he knows Kanako would keep it if he asked her. And he can tell Yuzuru that he told the two of them. If Yuzuru gets to have a confidante, so does Shoma, and he doesn’t want to choose between Keiji and Kanako.

“This is.. kind of a secret. So you can’t talk about this.” Kanako nods, but Shoma feels like he’s twelve and in one of those American sitcoms. He can feel himself blushing.

It takes him a long moment to figure out how to say it right, before he realizes that there is no right way to say it.

“When Yuzuru bruises, so do I. And when I bruise, they appear on his skin.” Kanako nods, again, fully serious now.

“You’re soulmates.” She says, voice dry like she’s stating the obvious.

Shoma shakes his head, and she frowns at him.

“We aren’t.”

“But if you have the bruises, that means-”

When Shoma shakes his head again, she goes quiet. It takes him a minute to collect himself, to decide how to explain. Shoma thought this would be easier, the second time around but it is almost more difficult.

“When we figured it out,” he starts. “When _I_ figured it out. It wasn’t pretty. And Yuzuru decided that he didn’t want-“

Kanako hisses, reaches for Shoma’s hand. He lets her hold it, more for her comfort than his own.

“He didn’t want the bond. So we just-“ He shrugs. “We went on. We didn’t really see each other at competitions at the time, anyway, so it was easy to ignore we had ever found out.”

“So what changed?”

Shoma shrugs again, smiles at her. “I guess now that I’m a senior, it makes sense for us to be at least friendly? So he came by, talked to me. We stopped ignoring each other.”

Kanako nods. “I noticed.”

Shoma feels himself blushing, a little. “Yeah. I mean, nothing much has changed? We still mostly avoid each other.”

Kanako squeezes his hand, so Shoma looks up and meets her eyes.

“He called the hotel for you?”

Shoma nods. “I guess so.”

She thinks, for a minute, eyebrows pulling together into a frown.

“Thank you for telling me,” she starts, “and I promise to keep it a secret. But I also hate that he is jerking you around like this, and if you need me to do anything, anything at all, I will.”

Shoma nods, bows a little awkwardly, since they’re sitting. Kanako, who is allergic to awkwardness, pulls him into a hug, which Shoma accepts. They sit there, for a long moment, before Kanako speaks again.

“It’s weird.”

Shoma hums, questioning, before disentangling himself from the hug to better look at her.

“It’s weird, because I really thought he liked you. And the hotel room, it just. He seems to care?”

Shoma shrugs. “I don’t think it was personal. I mean- he would do that for anyone. You know how Yuzuru is.”  

He shrugs again, realizes that it is the opposite of casual and tries a smile. Kanako looks at him, for a long moment, and then she tackles him to the bed.

“That’s ridiculous, you’re ridiculous. He cares about you.”

Shoma falls back and lets her cuddle close. It’s better than lying around and moping by himself, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how does plot work again? or, Shoma Has A Support Network ft HUGS


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start developing, finally.

The show moves into its third iteration, the last round of shows before a two week break that Shoma will divide into one week spent traveling to the US to train his jumps, and one week back home with his family.

He’s looking forward to a break by now. Three weeks of shows, three shows a week, new costumes, new choreography, a new audience to convince, new guest appearances to work into group numbers, a new bed in a new room every few nights; touring is taking its toll. Shoma is exhausted.

It’s fun, of course it’s exhilaratingly fun once the show actually starts, but the practices seem to stretch into eternities.

What people do not tell you, when you start skating shows, is that a lot of professional ice skating is waiting. Waiting for the ice to be done, waiting for everybody to show up, waiting for the choreographer, waiting for the director. Waiting for other skaters to work their shit out, patiently, because they will do you the same curtesy.

You spend hours on the ice, and yet, Shoma can’t seem to get a minute alone with it, can’t seem to find the time to practice properly. It makes him antsy, like his skin is too tight, like he needs a good stretch to make his body feel right, but he can’t find the right position, the right portion of his body to pull on.

He didn’t mind so much in the beginning, since morning practices exist and he had Mihoko by his side to keep his short periods of training time intense and effective. But the week and a half without her have made him stagnate, have made him feel like he has been training all his bad habits.

The first show run-through is disastrous.

He’s off during the intro, can’t quite hit the beat during the group choreography, forgets the last few beats worth of movements and just mimics whoever is standing in front of him, badly. By the time he gets off the ice, his face is burning, and he goes to hide out until his program is up.

Kanako throws him a concerned look, but Shoma avoids her and everyone else as well to go lick his hurt pride.

His concentration is shot.

If group choreo was awful, his program is a mess. It’s like his knees have been filled with cement and he can’t bend them right, can’t find the bounce that usually saves him even when his jump is wrong in some way. And although he feels heavy, he feels shaky, too. He’s unbalanced, and it carries through his performance. A fall on his triple axel, a stumble in his step sequence, which is still painfully empty. His spins feel slow, his arm movements ridiculous rather than intent.

He gets off the ice as quickly as possible, face burning and eyes prickling.

He only notices how much his hip smarts when he’s off the ice. When he checks, there is a large bruise forming, red, but already turning a dark purple in places.

Stéphane, who is also hanging out in the changing room, throws him a small smile and a “you ok?”

He doesn’t keep looking at Shoma, but bends down to adjust his skates in quick, practiced motions.

Shoma nods, realizes that Stéphane probably isn’t looking.

“Yes, thank you.”

He readjusts his own skates, glances at himself in the mirror. He looks ok, he looks normal. He looks fine.

“We all have shit days,” Stéphane says, already finished. “But they don’t last. Tomorrow is going to be better.”

He took about half the time Shoma needed to get the group choreo. Obviously he has been doing shows for a lot longer, but Shoma has a moment of absolute envy that he swallows down in order to smile.

Stéphane smiles back, gentle and kind. He claps Shoma on the shoulder, but doesn’t linger. He probably goes to hang out with the other skaters his age, Johnny and Jeff perhaps.

It’s weird how those groups happen: Younger and still competing skaters there, the older and professional skaters there. There are some that fall strangely in the middle: Javi knows a lot of people on both sides, and crosses groups frequently. The Japanese skaters tend to hang out a little more, despite age differences. Yuzuru is usually somewhere between all seats: he seems to know and like everybody, but he seems close only with Nobu, who isn’t currently with the show, and Javi.

Shoma goes to stand by Kanako, who is talking animatedly to Mao. He hasn’t seen Mao around much, she’s too busy shadowing organizers and catching up with other skaters for them to talk much, but he smiles at her. She’s networking a lot, Kanako had said. She sounded thoughtful, but happy.

Old fondness, old friendships like theirs don’t disappear, not even after a lot of distance. Mao smiles back at him, bright and happy, and Shoma can feel his smile turn genuine. Kanako, too, notices him, and pulls him closer into their little circle.

Mao knocks her shoulder into his, grins.

“You’ll go out there in the finale and knock our socks off, ok?”

Shoma can feel himself blush at the knowledge that she’d watched his program run-through. Mao notices, exchanges a knowing glance with Kanako, who knocks her shoulder into his other side, so he’s sandwiched between them.

He can’t help but laugh at that. They don’t seem to mind so much, that he hadn’t been able to skate very well. And Stéphane was right: Every time is a new chance. This is just a run-through, after all. The real thing has been working out so far.

He can try again right now, and he will have a chance to get it right when it counts.

The finale isn’t perfect. He’s still a little off, no pep-talk can change that, but his heart isn’t stuck in Shoma’s throat, and his knees, while still heavy, feel a little steadier.

When the spotlight hits him, he falls into his cantilever easily, manages to transition into his quad flip cleanly enough.

He doesn’t land it, it’s underrotated and he has to put his hand down to steady himself. He comes out of the jump grimacing.

The other skaters cheer nonetheless, but it’s Yuzuru’s eyes that catch Shoma, pull him, for just a split second, out of his embarrassment and frustration. The moment stretches as Yuzuru’s eyes widen, and he lets go of the lip pulled between his teeth. His mouth pulls into a smile

and Shoma is past him in a flash, and then he’s back in his spot, and Yuzu is heading off after Johnny for his own spotlight moment.

He jumps a beautiful quad toe, does his superstar pose, and accepts the resulting applause graciously.

Yuzuru’s skin shines with sweat from the exertion, and under the stage lights, he looks, for a moment, ethereal, almost unreal. He is smiling like he means it.

For a hot, paralyzing second, Shoma is so jealous. He can’t quite tell if it’s Yuzuru or the audience he’s jealous of, and before he can decide, he has to shrug the feeling off and focus on moving on.

***

“I’m going to tell him today,” Shoma tells Kanako the next morning. “We have the same practice time slot.”

They’re having breakfast together even though Kanako is scheduled for ice time two hours later than Shoma, because Kanako is the kind of person who takes pleasure in kicking Shoma out of bed and into shape in Mihoko’s place.

Her aggressive knocking was a far cry from Mihoko’s usual morning phone call, but she got Shoma out of bed, so he isn’t going to complain. Much. 

Kanako gives him a thumbs up, mouth too full with bacon and rice. Shoma takes a bite of his own. It’ll be fine. Since Javi knows their secret, and Yuzuru knows both Kanako and Keiji, it should be fine.

“You’re worried?” Kanako swallows the last of her food and kicks Shoma under the table.

“Ouch. Yeah, a bit. I don’t know what he’s going to say.”

She nods, thoughtful, then shrugs.

“What’s done is done. You can only apologize now.. Which you shouldn’t! Because you haven’t done anything wrong.”

She kicks him again, and if she keeps going at this rate, it’ll bruise. Shoma winces.

“Yeah, ok, ok, just stop-” and kicks her back.

She deserved it.

Thanks to Kanako’s persistence, Shoma makes it to practice early. Kanako is meeting Mao for brunch instead. How the woman can eat around 7 meals a day and stay skinny is a mystery to Shoma, who has been monitoring his diet since moving up to seniors. If he stays under his calorie allowance, Mihoko doesn’t force too many vegetables on him, so it’s worth the calculating.

Shoma starts to change clothes, enjoying the fact that he’s alone in the changing room. It’s not that he’s very uncomfortable changing around others, that’s a thing that is trained out of him pretty quickly at his home rink, but he can feel a little more careless when he’s alone, so it’s quicker. He slips into loose sweatpants and a t-shirt that he’s designated his training shirt for the day, since he’s worn it twice casually and it’s almost ready for a wash anyway. There’s no point in wasting a clean shirt if he’s going to sweat anyway.

He doesn’t look at himself, doesn’t check for new bruises, and doesn’t try to discern which are his and which are Yuzuru’s. It feels too strange, currently, to think like that, what with seeing him so frequently.

Lacing up his skates is a routine that always prepares Shoma, helps him focus on his skating.

The other skaters start slowly filing in, yawning and stretching, warming up more thoroughly than Shoma did. He feels bad about it, but keeps lacing up his skates anyway. He wants to be first on the ice, wants to have the expanse of it all to himself in the way he only ever really gets during competitions, wants to focus properly today, so he can skate his best in the evening show.

He nods at Stéphane and Jeff, who are talking in low tones but smile back at him. Javi is changing in a corner, and Shoma bows slightly to him, which makes Javi smile just a little. It’s odd that Yuzuru isn’t there yet, since he’s usually early, but Shoma shrugs it off and heads out.

By the time he’s out by the boards, his boots feel a little too loose again, so he leans against the boards to re-tie them. He hears the suspicious scrape of skates on ice, and when he leans up.. yes.

That’s Yuzuru, skating a lazy circle which turns into an effortless step sequence which turns into aimless stroking. Shoma can feel his face fall, and Yuzuru must catch his expression, because his smile freezes on his face.

It’s not a good start for the conversation Shoma needs to have with him, so he fits a smile onto his face. His heart is speeding up, and the smile feels forced, and Shoma knows it will look it, too. He tries a deep breath. Maybe Yuzuru can appreciate the attempt regardless?

His first step onto the ice is easy like breathing, though his knees feel wooden and his hips stiff. Yuzuru is skating off to the other side of the rink, either avoiding Shoma, or maybe giving him space. Right now, Shoma can’t tell.

Yuzuru is attentive enough to consider avoidance a kindness. Ever since Shoma started suspecting Yuzuru of fixing his key card problem, he can’t help but find an ongoing refrain that sounds suspiciously like Kanako in the back of his head.

If he talks to him now, while everyone else is still warming up and changing, he’ll have the steadiness gifted by the ice on his side. He catches up with Yuzuru easily, who slows down when he sees Shoma coming. Yuzuru pulls his lower lip between his teeth, considers Shoma with a careful look in his eyes.

Shoma thought about what he wanted to say, but his plans evaporate as he skates up to Yuzuru. What comes out is a rushed, stressed hiccup of a sentence.

“Did you help me?”

Shoma feels blood rushing to his head. If the ice opened up and swallowed him, that would be fine.

Yuzuru’s lower lip is bright pink where he chewed on it, but now it pulls into a smile.

“Did you have anything to do with my key card. I mean-”

It sounds so self-important, to just assume that Yuzuru did something like that for him. What seemed like a reasonable theory in his hotel room when he was just talking to Kanako now seems ridiculous. This is Yuzuru Hanyu. He has better things to do than call hotel front desks to order spare key cards for his co-competitors.

Yuzuru nods.

Shoma’s thoughts freeze. He’s staring. He knows he’s staring.

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to overstep. I thought if I did it in secret, you wouldn’t mind.” 

Shoma is still staring. Why is Yuzuru apologizing. Why does he look genuinely embarrassed and concerned? Why do his eyebrows pull together like that when he’s worried?

 Yuzuru shifts, hip popping out. He’s ridiculous.

“I didn’t want to.. I don’t know, we’ve- We haven’t talked since”

Shoma finds himself nodding, head still feeling beet red. He knows when they last talked. Yuzuru gestures, hands flopping. His smile is gone.

“I didn’t want to... cross any boundaries.”

Shoma nods again. It’s a valid reason, and it’s also a very good excuse, and he doesn’t know which, because Yuzuru is good at this, he’s good at being polite and attentive and kind and it’s probably genuine but Shoma just. He just can’t quite trust him. But he needs Yuzuru to be ok with their secret being out, or at least a little less secret than before.

“It’s ok. I wanted to-” Shoma stumbles over his own words, because now that he is saying them he finds himself meaning them.

“I wanted to say thank you. You didn’t have to do that, but you helped me a lot.” He swallows, hard, finds himself flushing even more, though there is no reason to, now.

Yuzuru looks at him, face carefully set, but his eyes are kind. He doesn’t look like he’s dreading whatever Shoma is going to say next. It’s nice. Shoma breathes out, sighs. Yuzuru smiles, small but honest, nods.

Shoma doesn’t quite know how to continue.

There’s a burst of discordant noise, and then music starts playing from the speakers. Stéphane and Jeff break onto the ice, laughter carrying over the rink to where Shoma and Yuzuru are standing.

Yuzuru’s head snaps up, and he looks over to them. Shoma turns to look, too, and sees Javi standing by the boards, as well.

Shoma feels the chance to talk to Yuzuru slip from his fingers. Whatever honesty there was between them for this moment, it’s gone now that they have to pretend to be-

He doesn’t even know what. They aren’t pretending to be friends, because they would just keep talking, then. He doesn’t know how to pretend, around Yuzuru.

Yuzuru smiles at him, again, and Shoma finds himself smiling back.

“Ok?”

Shoma nods, hesitates. He thought Yuzuru would take this as a chance to skate off and continue training, but he just throws another look over Shoma’s shoulder to Javi, communicating wordlessly with him. Shoma can’t tell what they’re saying, but before he can try to put another sentence together, Yuzuru turns to him.

“Let’s talk later, ok? This-” he looks around, to where the rink is filling up around them, “it’s not ideal.”

He’s right, in a way. Shoma will have an easier time in a calmer environment, and besides: he wanted the ice to himself, and now he’s missing out on ice time.

“Yes, ok. I mean. We should practice.” Shoma finds himself saying. Yuzuru nods, hand coming up as if to pat Shoma on the shoulder, but drawing back before he can reach, an aborted movement that looks painfully awkward on Yuzuru, who is so easy with touch.

Yuzuru laughs awkwardly, and turns to skate off. Shoma shrugs, a little, and starts skating again himself.

There’s an unrest located under his ribs somewhere between his stomach and his lungs that is half due to the fact that his conversation with Yuzuru got cut short and half due to last night’s horrible performance, but Shoma pushes the feeling down a little further, until he can barely feel it at all.

He sets out for his first proper lap, and realizes quickly that today isn’t a good jump day. If Mihoko was here, she’d ask him about his condition, about how his muscles feel, whether he’s tense and achy, which he is. She’d ask him to do a run through, maybe, make him skate some figures, his step sequence from a past program, probably.

But Mihoko isn’t here, and Shoma may know what he should do, but he also really, really wants to fix yesterday’s mistake. Patience and common sense didn’t earn him his triple axel, and they won’t help him feel good about it again, either.

He does a series of cross-overs to pick up speed, sets up the axel, and can’t make himself do it. He hates to stalk jump like this. He hates it. He turns, turns again, a dumb imitation of a swivel, checks that there’s no one in his way, and sets up the axel again.

His axis is off, he knows immediately, but he gets the full rotation in before crashing into the ice, his ankle collapsing under him. He gets up immediately, cross over, cross over, and turns into the axel again. He almost lands it, underrotates slightly, and saves himself with a hand on the ice.

Another, and another, and another. None of them are perfect, not even close. He falls, again, and he hates it. At some point, Stéphane skates up to him and helps him up, hand gentle on Shoma’s back for just a moment.

“Don’t beat yourself up too much, ok?”

But how can Shoma not, when he literally feels sixteen again, as if all his progress of the past two years is void and lost.

He needs to land a good axel, and he needs it today. He needs it to skate a good show tomorrow.

He keeps going until people start leaving the ice, landings shaky at best and sometimes entirely unavailable. The jump keeps eluding him, like the more he practices, the worse it gets. When he crashes, it hurts more.

He stays down, breath punched out of him. The ice is cold against his back, moisture seeping through his clothes as Shoma gasps, tries to calm his body enough to continue. He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but they must be coming to the end of their time slot, since Stéphane, Jeff and Johnny have left.

Johnny Weir confuses Shoma. He always turns up half an hour late, leaves half an hour early, barely seems to practice, and yet, his skating is passable. If Shoma practiced so little, his skating would fall apart.

Someone skates up to him, spraying him with ice. Shoma shudders, blinks at the cold moisture on his face and goes to wipe it away.

Yuzuru extends a gloved hand, smiles hesitantly.

“You ok?”  

Shoma takes his hand and lets Yuzuru pull him up. They stand there, for a  second. Javi is the only other person left on the ice. There are only about fifteen minutes left, and Shoma frowns.

“Practice passes so fast. I’ve barely done anything.”

Yuzuru’s eyes narrow, his head tilts.

“I’ll make you a deal.”

For a split second, Shoma feels like he’d just fallen hard again, stunned and breathless with fear. Then reality seeps back in.

Yuzuru, for some reason, is still holding Shoma’s hand. Shoma pulls his hand away, but tilts his head to mirror Yuzuru’s.

“Ok?”

His voice sounds a lot more suspicious than he wanted it to. Pretend friends, he reminds himself. They can be friendly like this. It’s fine.

But Yuzuru just nods, like the deal is already made. Like he has Shoma in his bag just because Shoma agreed to hear him out.  

“If you let me give you a pointer, on your axel, I’ll wrangle ten more minutes out of the rink staff.”

Shoma can feel his eyes go wide. There is no downside to this proposal: Whatever advice Yuzuru has on skating, Shoma will gladly accept, even if it is something ridiculous. And then, ten more minutes on the ice! A smile spreads on his face.

Yuzuru smiles back, eyes wide, nods and skates off to the boards. Javi, on the other side of the rink, looks up and grins after him.

It’s confusing, the two of them. Javi seems so okay with Yuzuru and Shoma talking, even though it is awkward and tense, which is a constant surprise, but probably shouldn’t be. There isn’t a malicious bone in Javi’s body. When Javi sees Shoma staring, he grins at him, too. Shoma looks down quickly, but his cheeks go warm anyway.

Javi skates up to him, crossing the rink in record time. When he speaks to Shoma, he speaks in very slow English, enunciating in a way that betrays his experience with non-native speakers. It makes Shoma feel simple, but also thankful.

“What did you say to make Yuzuru smile?”

Shoma suspects that Javi probably knows already, but humors him. He answers in equally slow and carefully pronounced Japanese, choosing words he is pretty certain Javi will know from hanging out with Yuzuru and Miki and the other Japanese skaters.

“I promised to listen to him about the triple axel.”

Javi’s eyes crease in the corners when he smiles.

“Oh, you will have regrets.”

Shoma shrugs. He has those already. A little more can’t hurt.

“And he promised an extra ten minutes of skating!”

Javi shakes his head, fond. He probably thinks they are both insane for adding extra time to their already exhausting training schedules.

Yuzuru returns, apparently successful in his bid for more time. He does a fist pump, but it looks silly, because Yuzuru’s arms flail like there is no tension in them. Shoma can’t bite down a grin when Javi snorts.

Javi knocks his shoulder into Shoma’s, grins down at him. His eyes are very warm.

“Have fun!”

And then he’s gone, leaving to warm down and change, and thus leaving Shoma and Yuzuru with almost twenty minutes of ice time for themselves.

It feels like a miracle. Shoma has been waiting to have the ice to himself for days, and here it is: a clean white expanse, all for him. Almost.

Yuzuru comes up to him, skating around him in a clean circle, and into a transition that leads him, yes, right into a solid, clean triple axel.

And Shoma looks. Looks closely at how Yuzuru jumps with ease, the way he holds his body, takes in his position in the air. It’s different, seeing him do this here, no audience or show lights, but no judges, either. He’s easier to look at, when he’s so close, less persona and more person.

Yuzuru throws him a look that propels Shoma into action.

He takes up speed, tries to copy the way Yuzuru position’s his feet, his hips, and jumps.

It’s not good, he knows immediately after take-off. Something about his jump off was completely wrong. Shoma lands hard on his side, gasps, but gets up.

Yuzuru nods, skates a circle around him, inviting Shoma to skate, too, to take his time for his next attempt.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to explain anything. Shoma doesn’t know what he expected when Yuzuru said pointers,  but this isn’t it.

Yuzuru does another axel, this one a little tighter on the landing than the previous, but still good. Still better than any axel Shoma has landed, probably. But for once, Shoma doesn’t feel like he’s lacking. Instead, when Yuzuru skates on, turns to keep Shoma in his line of sight, throws him a look that is an invitation, but the tilt of his chin reads as a challenge.

Shoma sets up the jump, his transition into it simple and clean, nothing that would excite in competition but whatever. Whatever, as long as he can land this. He jumps, feels his body rotate, and it feels right, it feels almost perfect. He’s got almost too much rotation, this time, has to save the jump with his swinging leg, but Yuzuru laughs, high and delighted.

“Again,” he calls. “Remember your core!”

Shoma nods, thinks, obviously. It’s less advice and more a reminder, as Yuzuru sets into his next jump, not an axel this time, but a quad sal that has height and distance. He fist pumps again, coming out of it, but this time, the fist pump looks good.

He looks good.

Shoma takes the momentum that the hot uncomfortable tightness in his stomach lends him, and pushes it into his next jump. He sets up his flip before he knows what he’s doing, subconsciously falling into the shape of it, and it’s perfect. It feels just right.

He throws his head back, transitions into a cantilever just to be a little extra, feels his sweats stretch over his thighs, his shirt run up to reveal the bruise on his hip and side.

Yuzuru, when he comes up and turns to seek him out, it looking intensely, skating cross overs to keep Shoma in his line of sight, smiling. He sets into his next axel, let’s Shoma see him in turn, take him in fully, body on display.

He’s amazing, his body contrasting against the ice due his black outfit, the lines and curves of his body gorgeous and clean.

Shoma turns, puts a little more intent into every motion. His body tightens down around that feeling, the extension of his arms is firm, his frame is in place, his knees feel flexible and stable, and sets into another attempt at the axel.

He can do this. He can.

And he does. He doesn’t have the moment of hesitation before turning into the jump, feels his body fall into the rotation easily, keeps track, and his landing is solid, leaving a clear line in the ice for Shoma to trace. It’s a good one.

He laughs, delighted, feels, rather than sees, Yuzuru fall into place next to him. He catches Yuzuru’s eyes, and he, too, looks happy.

“This was fun,” Yuzuru says, laughs again.

“That was good,” and slows down. “But we should stop.”

Time’s up. Shoma feels the laughter slide from his face.

“Oh. Right.”

Yuzuru frowns, but doesn’t say anything for a long moment while they slow down, while they skate over to the opening in the boards.

Just before they get off the ice, he breaks the silence.

“It’s better to leave it in a good place, right?”

Shoma nods, considers. Yuzuru is right, in more than one way. They had fun just now. Maybe he can talk to Yuzuru tomorrow, push it back so they can keep this experience as a good memory. Leave it in a good place. He nods again, smiles up at Yuzuru, who smiles back at him.

“Yes.”

***

The shorter, final run through that evening goes better. Shoma still sort of screws up the new, adjusted choreography of the intro, but he falls back into the movements quickly enough that he hopes no one notices. Fake it till you make it is becoming second nature.

“If it happens during an actual show, not one audience member will notice, I promise,” says Stéphane, and hands Shoma a piece of chocolate. It’s original Swiss. Stéphane is very proud of Swiss chocolate and Swiss watches, and Shoma has the sneaking suspicion that Stéphane is trying to bribe Shoma away from Mihoko with goodies.

Shoma is tempted, because the chocolate melts on his tongue in a way that feels perfect, like satin against skin.

“Oooohh,” comes a squeal from his left. Johnny is wearing something that has a lot of feathers and sparkles, and very little else. Shoma wants to cover his eyes, but he has no room to criticize: Mihoko picks all of his costumes for a reason, and Shoma’s every day look has been described, by better dressed people, as “a slob who doesn’t care”. Shoma can roll with that.

“Chocolate!” Johnny reaches out with a tragic expression on his face. “Give me. Please.”

Considering how few of Shoma’s allotted calories for the day he’s consumed so far, he’s probably allowed a piece or two, but when Stéphane clutches his chocolate to his chest with a scandalized expression, and Johnny’s voice raises two pitches, Shoma hands over the rest of his.

“You didn’t have to!” Stéphane explains, quickly, but Shoma smiles and shakes his head.

“This kid,” he hears Johnny exclaim, as Shoma walks away quickly, to avoid any more drama, “is so cute.”

It’s an easy enough sentence to grasp, in English, and one Shoma has heard quite a few times.

He knows he’s cute: he’s short and small and his face is kind of child-like. It’s fine. He’s stopped waiting for a growth-spurt, and is happy enough with the way puberty has changed his jawline from rounded to at least sort-of angular.

Still, the comment raises his hackles a little. It just makes him feel like they can’t take him seriously, like he’s still a junior. Shoma has grown up over the past two years. He may look cute, but he isn’t a child.

When he finally gets to do a run-through of his program, he puts his all into it, and finally, it feels like it could _be_ something. He’s intense, and the music fills his chest and makes him sharp, angular. He throws himself into his jumps like he did this afternoon, with abandon and a complete loss of self-preservation, and they hit the music in the right places, just like the choreography demands. He stands them all, not perfectly, but well enough to be able to act over the small jitters.

He ends it with a smile.

***

Shoma changes quickly into dry sweatpants and a new t-shirt, before heading out to catch a ride back to the hotel. Mao catches him as he leaves.

“Do you want to come to dinner with us?” She looks expectant, and Shoma hates to say no, but. He shakes his head. The first show is on the next night, and he’s bone tired.

Mao looks disappointed, but nods, smiles.

Shoma bows at her, a little.

“I’m sorry, I’m very tired.”

Mao bows back, laughs a little.

“So formal. Well then, Shoma, at least promise you’ll come with us tomorrow after the show?”

Her eyes have gone mischievous, and from behind him, Kanako giggles. If Shoma jumps a little in surprise, they ignore it, too busy with convincing him.

“Yes, Shoma. Promise you’ll join us tomorrow. We have to celebrate the start of this show, don’t we?”

Shoma sighs, smiles when Kanako hugs him shortly from behind before passing him to hug Mao for much longer, clinging on. He smiles at them both, flushed and happy. He will miss seeing them so often in the coming weeks.

“Ok, yes. I will gladly come tomorrow.”

Mao and Kanako cheer loud enough to draw looks from around, which makes Shoma want to pull his shoulders around his ears to hide. But he can’t quite hide his smile.

He’s been evading the group dinners as best as he could for the past two shows, but this is the last city before the break, and he doesn’t want to keep to himself anymore.

***

Shoma had forgotten that he had promised Yuzuru they would talk later.

Yuzuru, it seems, did not forget such things. He turns up in front of Shoma’s hotel room, dressed in jeans and a sweater that looks casual, but kind of dressed up.

Shoma is vividly reminded of the last time they stood this way, before Yuzuru tucked him into bed and talked him into a friendship that hasn’t started happening even two cities and half a dozen ice shows later.

At least this time Shoma is wearing sweats so old he can’t remember when his mother bought them, and a t-shirt with a hole in the sleeve that he can push his entire thumb through rather than the underwear he sleeps in. It’s a vast improvement.

“Hey,” says Yuzuru, after an awkwardly long pause. “Do you want to go eat something?”

He seems friendly enough, but he also shifts in place in a way Shoma wants to interpret as hurry or dislike or-

Maybe not. Shoma can’t shake the feeling that it isn’t Yuzuru’s fault that they’ve not talked for the past week. Shoma has been so cold, so awkward about the promised friendliness. Yuzuru, on the other hand, is taking every opportunity to be civil. More than civil, actually. He’s being kind.

After that first kindness, the favor Yuzuru had done Shoma by fixing his hotel key card disaster, it hasn’t been hard to find other small kindnesses that Yuzuru seems to do without even thinking about it. Some, like this morning, seem calculated, but there was no downside for Shoma.

He decides, just this once, to disregard Mihoko’s admonishments. She isn’t here to scold him should he get too involved in something that might be painful, and anyway, Shoma will be fine. He can hang out with Yuzuru and keep him at arm’s length. Whatever civility will cost him, Shoma is fine paying it, if it will stop the awkwardness.

It isn’t just about him anymore, not after he’s told Keiji and Kanako about their non-relationship. They are both friends with Yuzuru, too. This hasn’t ever been about sides, and Shoma doesn’t want to make anyone choose by being unnecessarily hostile when that is absolutely unnecessary.

Yuzuru, he considers, has been reaching out a friendly hand for a while. Whether that offer is genuine or not is becoming less and less important, when he is still reaching out after weeks. His arm must by getting tired. Shoma might as well reach out and take it.

Consequences be damned.

“Sure,” he nods. “I could eat.”

Yuzur nods at him, smiles. “I thought you probably haven’t had enough, what with our practice taking up half of the lunch break and then the evening rehearsals...”

It’s ridiculously thoughtful. Shoma shakes his head, can’t not react to that. Yuzuru laughs a little, a rough sound in the back of his throat that is completely different from his bright, delighted laughter this morning. Shoma likes it, wonders, for just a short moment, how many different ways Yuzuru can laugh. Whether there is a person who has heard every version.

It aches, a little.

He admitted it to Keiji, more easily that he thought possible, but only because Keiji seemed to understand him in this regard: It still hurts, a little. Like a bruise that hasn’t yet risen to the surface, but when u press down on tissue, you can feel the ache deep down.

Yuzuru is looking at Shoma a little quizzically, eyebrows pulling together. Oh, right. He should move.

“I should... probably change?”

Yuzuru shrugs, his face relaxing into a smile again. His eyes are warm with humor when he looks at Shoma.

“You look fine.”

“Oh.” Shoma feels himself blush. Just fine. That’s fine.

“We don’t have to go anywhere fancy! Mao recommended a place, tough, I thought we could try that.”

Mao, due to a year-long friendship with Kanako, has a ridiculously good nose for hole in the wall restaurants that make one thing, but do that thing terribly well. Kanako enjoys eating anything and lots of it, but Mao is picky. The two of them have a system in place when they travel together, which has lead Mao, rather than Kanako, to be the go-to restaurant advisor for other skaters.

Shoma can’t help but smile fondly. “Yeah, that sounds good. Let me just-”

He closes the door a little, but not entirely. Just slamming the door in Yuzuru’s face would be unnecessarily rude, probably. He said it was fine, but Shoma pulls off his shirt, quickly, and puts on a different one, long-sleeved, soft and dark red with no holes in it at all. The sweatpants, he assumes, are non-offensive enough, black fabric, and most importantly: clean. He grabs is wallet and his phone, checks that his keycard is still in his phone cover.

Yuzuru, when he opens the door again, looks at him like Shoma is a surprise.

“Sorry!” Shoma stumbles out, pulls the door closed behind him. Yuzuru has witnessed his chaos once, that’s one more time than Shoma needed him to.

“No, that’s… that’s fine;” Yuzuru says, blushing. Shoma can feel his eyes narrow. Did he see?

He shrugs. Even if Yuzuru did see him, it wouldn’t have been the first time he has seen Shoma change. Nothing to notice there.

They move along.

“I like that shirt,” Yuzuru says, hesitantly, after another odd pause. Shoma looks down, looks at Yuzuru again, who seems to be blushing. Huh.

“Thank you!” Shoma asks, and then, because he can’t not. “Better than fine?”

Yuzuru blinks down at him, blinks again, and his confused face resolves into a smile, that widens.

“Did you just-” he says, voice going up in a way that is ridiculously funny, “did you just joke?”

Shoma shrugs, bites down a grin.

“It has been said to happen! So… Lead the way!”

It takes them twenty minutes to find the restaurant, which is probably actually only about five minutes from the hotel, because Yuzuru, it seems, is terrible at directions even with google maps, and Shoma refuses to help him.

“That’s it!” Yuzuru points, excited, to the other side of the tiny side-road they’re on. He even jumps a little, seems to remember himself, and runs his hand through his hair, looking sheepish.

Shoma can’t help but smile at him. In the past twenty minutes they have covered the changes in choreo between the past two stops and this show cycle, what they’d seen when playing tourist in the cities before. Yuzuru went quiet when Shoma talked about hanging out with Keiji, but had just asked how he was doing.

It’s small talk, which Shoma usually find painful, but Yuzuru can easily hold a conversation by himself, easily glossing over Shoma’s frequent stumbles.

Now that Shoma has decide to just treat him like any team mate, it’s surprisingly easy to talk to him.

They are seated, in a little nook in a quiet corner of the restaurant that isn’t easily visible through the windows. Shoma tilts his head. The server is consciously blasé, but has obviously recognized Yuzuru.

And talking to her, he notices Yuzuru stand up a little straighter, his smile going a little wider, brighter in a kind of... strained way.

He smiles that way at Shoma when he first approached him during their first show rehearsal. Shoma can’t quite tell when Yuzuru’s smile started feeling genuine, but. It makes something warm uncurl in Shoma’s chest, that he wants to stop, wants to keep coiled tight and safe.

Shoma orders meat, Yuzuru orders something that is tofu based and has a billion vegetables.

“You can try it if you want,” Yuzuru laughs when Shoma pulls a face at his order. “I swear it’s really nice.”

Shoma shudders, just for show.

“Are you a vegetarian?” he asks. It’s more politeness than actual curiosity, but Yuzuru tilts his head like he takes it seriously, considers.

“No, I don’t think so. I prefer not to eat meat, I find it hard to digest? But if someone cooks it for me, I wouldn’t want to refuse it.”

“Even if it makes you feel bad?” Shoma can’t help but dig.

Yuzuru frowns a little. “Yeah. Like. I mostly get my own food before competitions and during training, so it hasn’t happened, and the people in my life know what I like, so they mostly don’t—but yeah. I guess I’d at least try it, even before a competition.”

“Huh,” Shoma says, “I wouldn’t.”

“Really?” Yuzuru sounds shocked.

“Yeah,” Shoma laughs. “I mean, I’d find a way to say no politely, but. If someone brought me homemade eggplant, I would just refuse.”

Yuzuru laughs. “I hope no one you like ever cooks vegetables for you. You might find yourself eating them!”

It’s a joke, and Shoma laughs along, but. “Never.”

The food arrives, and it is amazing. For a few minutes, they just eat in silence, trying to cram as much food as possible into their bodies before the feeling of satedness sets in. When Shoma leans back, half of his plate gone, and sighs, Yuzuru looks up from his giant bowl of soup, and smiles. His lips are greasy, and he should look silly but he doesn’t.

“You want a carrot?” He says, and holds up a piece of orange vegetable with his chopsticks. Shoma grimaces, and points to his place.

“No, look, I have my own.” Yuzuru laughs and drips all over the table between them before stuffing the carrot into his own mouth, cheeks bulging.

Ridiculous.

“So...” Shoma starts, when Yuzuru, too, slows down. He doesn’t seem to have made much of a dent in his bowl, but who is Shoma to judge.

They’re figure skaters, they aren’t supposed to stuff themselves, so it’s probably fine.

“Hmm?” Yuzuru chews, swallows. His eyes are creasing at the corners, smiling with his eyes even while his tongue is busy licking his lips clean. Shoma swallows hard.

“What I wanted to talk about, before--” He starts. Yuzuru lays down his chopsticks, puts the bowl back down, shifting his full attention to Shoma.

Shoma pushes a piece of meat through the bed of white rice that is still on his plate.

“You know how we said that we can be friends?”

It’s like the air has gone out of the room, Yuzuru goes so still. He seems to be barely breathing. Shoma, too, feels like he can’t breathe. He makes a conscious effort to breathe out, sighs.

“So I… It felt--“ he stumbles over his own words. Yuzuru hums, considering.

“Do you not want to, anymore?” He asks, and his voice sounds perfectly even, his tone perfectly impersonal. It’s not the same Yuzuru Shoma has been chatting with for the past hour. This is the Yuzuru that talked to the waiter, this is Yuzuru in interviews.

Shoma wants crinkly-eyed and greasy-mouthed Yuzuru back.

“No,” he says. “No, no. I just. I told Keiji and Kanako about it. About all of it.”

“Oh,” Yuzuru says, and laughs. It’s a nervous laugh, high and sort of-

“I’m-- No, I’m not apologizing, I just… At practice, Javi came up to me, and he… He implied that he knew, about this thing, he motions to his arm, where the bruise from last week had faded, but where Yuzuru had touched him only a couple of weeks ago. Yuzuru’s eyes flicker down, go dark. Shoma looks away.

Yuzuru nods. “Javi knows about everything.”

“I wanted someone of my own. To know. I needed to… to talk about this, to someone who would understand, and I just... I couldn’t choose between them.”

Yuzuru nods, again. “That’s fair.” He nods again, firmly. “That’s fine. Just make sure they know to keep it a secret. Javi does, he is... discreet.”

Shoma breathes in, deeply. “They know that, too.”

He sighs, “they know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This monster now has more words than my longest fic and these boys have barely got their shit toether.   
> Also, fun-fact: when I posted it, the hit-count was 666. I am, apparently, doing the devil's work here #sinning
> 
> Tell me what you're thinking!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody goes clubbing, shit happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[[[Trigger Warning]]]]  
> Consumption of alcohol and an instance of non-con drug use.  
> Nothing bad happens or the official tags would go WAY up, but I figure better safe than sorry!!

The rest of dinner seems kind of a rush. Any attempt at conversation dies in the bud, because Shoma just can’t focus on anything but the relief that now everything is out in the open. Yuzuru knows that Keiji and Kanako know, Shoma knows he’s okay with that.

Small talk is impossible.

They leave the restaurant, splitting the bill between them. Yuzuru looks like he wants to argue, but he just lets Shoma put his money in the envelope.

And then they’re on the street, in the cool darkness of the small road. Further down, it crosses with a large road, neon signs and street lamps visible, but here, it’s quiet.

They stand there, for a moment, in this strange liminal space before they have to head back to the hotel. It’s a strange feeling, because a part of Shoma doesn’t want to go back. He also doesn’t want to head back into the restaurant. Nervous energy strums through his body, wants to be released.

“Hey,” he says, and Yuzuru looks up from where he’d been staring at the ground, deep in thought.

“Can we walk for a bit?” Yuzuru’s eyes go wide at the invitation, and Shoma realizes that all their conversations, all the time they’ve spent together so far, had been initiated by Yuzuru.

He shrugs. “I don’t feel tired yet.”

Yuzuru laughs, disbelieving. “You? I thought all you do is sleep and skate!”

“Hey!!” Shoma calls out, faking affront. “I play games, too!”

“Oh yeah,” Yuzuru laughs, “that totally counts as a fulfilling hobby.”

Shoma frowns, laughs. “That joke’s on you, too.”

Yuzuru turns to stare at him, eyes wide with humor. “Oh no, you’re right.” He laughs, somewhere between the throaty and the bright laugh, and Shoma can’t bite down his own laughter.

Now that they’re walking, Shoma feels fine talking. He almost feels like he had on the way here, when they’d talked about random things, almost small talk, except for all the little details that slipped into their conversation involuntarily, that offer Shoma knowledge of Yuzuru’s mind that he hadn’t had before.

Like:

“Your quad flip is so cool! I wish I could add another quad, but Brian is really against it.”

Shoma blushes at the compliment.

“I’m not fully rotating it consistently, yet. And I think the edge of it is off? But I’m-“ he stops himself, but then Yuzuru makes an inquiring noise, and Shoma thinks, oh. What’s the harm.

“I’m going to the US to practice my jumps with a specialist. Mihoko think it’s a good idea, since Coach Machiko and she can’t really help me with these parts of training anymore.”

“Oh,” Yuzuru sounds surprised. “I hadn’t thought of these issues. When I… when I outgrew my previous coach, I moved to Toronto.”

“I know,” Shoma smiles. “But I haven’t outgrown them. They still have a lot to teach me, when it comes to other parts of skating. And Mihoko choreographs my programs and chooses my costumes.”

“Do you have any input at all?” Yuzuru asks.

It raises Shoma’s hackles, a little. Who is Yuzuru to criticize, when he lets his coach hold him back from jumping the quads he wants.

“I don’t want more input. They don’t make me do anything I don’t want--“

It comes out biting, harsh. He doesn’t mean it, the minute the sentence is out, but Yuzuru just wilts, a little, shoulders curling in. They walk a few more steps, before he starts speaking again, hesitantly.

“I didn’t mean... I just... wanted to know.”

Shoma nods.

They walk aimlessly for a while, turning left or right at corners without knowing where it may lead them. This probably isn’t safe. If someone came to recognize them, or wanted to mug them, they’d be helpless.

“Do you know where we are?” he asks Yuzuru, who pulls out his phone.

“Yeah. Do you want to go back?”

“Yes.”

Yuzuru smiles, a tired, pretend thing. “Ok.”

“I’m just tired,” Shoma finds himself saying, because Yuzuru might be thinking he had caused this decision with his question. Which he had, in a way, but Shoma is also just tired, maybe. A little sensitive, again, rubbing his feelings raw with Yuzuru’s interest.

Yuzuru quirks the corner of his mouth up, says, “It’s another fifteen minutes from here; is that ok?”

Shoma shrugs. His body feels fine, he’s not tired physically as much as mentally.

They walk on, instead of doubling back, which means that they must have been walking in a circle. Yuzuru is focused on finding the way, face illuminated by the blue glow of his phone, frown made obvious in the cold light.

And then Shoma finds himself talking, just to fill the silence.

“You really don’t mind that I told Keiji and Kanako?”

Yuzuru shakes his head. “No, that’s fine. I just-“

It’s odd, for Yuzuru to stumble over his own words. He usually just talks, in one long flow, until he finds his point, until he has explained his thoughts well. He may not be succinct, generally, but he doesn’t... He doesn’t stop like Shoma does, doesn’t usually interrupt himself like this. It makes Shoma look up at him, catch his eyes.

Holding his gaze, Yuzuru smiles, a little. He still looks sad, though. His eyes are dark.

“I didn’t know you didn’t have anyone to talk about this. It wasn’t meant to be like that.”

He says it like an apology. Like he what he is really saying is: I didn’t want it to be like that.

Shoma shrugs, regrets shrugging it off, and opens his mouth.

But he doesn’t know what to say.

Yuzuru did what he did, for reasons Shoma can’t understand and doesn’t need to know. He respected Yuzuru’s choice, and he doesn’t need more apologies than the ones offered at the time.

Whatever Shoma is feeling, now, he thinks, more and more, has nothing to do with Yuzuru, really. It has to do with Shoma himself, with his expectations, with his decisions up to this point.

Yuzuru is holding his gaze. Shoma promised Mihoko that, whatever they were doing, he was going to keep Yuzuru an arm’s length away. He told Keiji that he doesn’t have feelings for him, and he doesn’t, he _doesn’t_.

But Kanako’s words echo in his mind, again. He cares.

Shoma can see that now.

“It’s okay. I have them now,” he ends up saying. He says it with finality. Yuzuru nods like he understands.

***

They arrive back at the hotel just a few minutes later. Shoma yawns, then yawns again. Yuzuru laughs.

“That’s how I know you!”

Shoma blinks at him, feels slightly sluggish, sleep starting to overwhelm him. Yuzuru doesn’t... He doesn’t really know him.

Yuzuru’s smile slips like he’s realized that he’s given something away, and he laughs, sheepishly. Shoma wants to ask, but Shoma also doesn’t want to know. So maybe Yuzuru watched an interview or something, did some research. It feels a little weirder than Shoma seeking out Yuzuru’s interviews, maybe, since Yuzuru has all that clout, the titles and ads and fame going for him. He’s famous. One more person knowing whatever Yuzuru offers to the public isn’t going to bother him. Shoma has always felt his research was justified, not creepy, but right now, facing the reverse, he wonders if it truly was his right to seek the information out.

And if Yuzuru had looked him up, why did he do it. What was his motivation. Was he just curious? Did he just want to keep up with Shoma’s development like one does with a rival, or?

He doesn’t ask that, either. Instead, he lets Yuzuru accompany him up to his door. It’s a little weird, since Yuzuru’s room is in a different hallway, but Yuzuru doesn’t say anything about it, just watches Shoma dig out his key card with a smile.

Shoma raises it a little, before sliding it through the slot at the door.

“Thanks, again.”

Yuzuru shrugs, a little, smile gone shy and small. He isn’t meeting Shoma’s eyes, but Shoma really, really wants him to.

“No problem at all.”

Shoma lets him be. He wouldn’t want to be pushed on something like this, so he doesn’t want to push Yuzuru, either.

Instead, he bows a goodbye.

“Thank you for dinner.”

Yuzuru bows back, smiles brightly. “Thank you for joining me!”

And that’s it.

The door closes behind Shoma, and Yuzuru probably heads off to his own room, or maybe he’s going to join the others, or-

Shoma yawns, again, hard enough his jaw cracks.

***

His phone is ringing. Shoma pushes a seeking hand out from under his blanket, and tries to find it blindly.

He’s sleeping. He’s going to murder whoever is calling him with his brain and continue sleeping.

“Good morning!” yells Keiji, when Shoma finally gathers his phone up enough to press a button. Anything to make the ringing noise stop.

Keiji’s bright, cheerful voice isn’t any better. Why is the loudspeaker on.

“Grmnmnn,” says Shoma. Keiji laughs, tinny.

Great. Shoma is awake now.

“So...” Keiji says, pulling such a small word much longer than it ever needed to be. Shoma groans, hangs up.

Whatever this was about, it wasn’t early morning conversation material.

Keiji calls again.

This time, Shoma gets rid of him immediately. A message pings in a second later.

“So a little bird told me you met up with Yuzuru last night. Come on, practice was shit, let me laugh at you.”

Shoma blinks blearily at the clock. Ah. It’s 8am, Keiji must have gotten one of the really really shitty super early time slots for his private lesson. That sucks.

Shoma can be sympathetic, though why his own misery should be used for Keiji’s entertainment, he doesn’t know.

He picks up Keiji’s next call regardless, doesn’t let him get a word in sideways.

“I had a good time, actually.”

Keiji gasps, fake dramatic.

“It wasn’t awful?”

“No... a little awkward, at times. But it was fine.”

“So,” Keiji prompts, “you went for dinner.”

“Yes.” Shoma nods. “He turned up in front of my door dressed up like a weirdo, and reminded me that we wanted to talk. Apparently Mao--“

Shoma stops. Thinks. Oh.

“Did Mao tell you??”

Keiji laughs. “I will never tell.”

Shoma snorts. “It was either her, Kanako, or Yuzuru himself. There are no other options.”

Keiji laughs, again, tries to sound mysterious, “You would be surprised. But anyway!”

“Anyway, Mao told him about the restaurant, so I knew it would be good. And I hadn’t eaten, which he somehow knew-“

“Because you guys trained through half of the lunch break and had a busy day--“

Shoma gasps. “Javi! Javi told you!”

Keiji’s lack of laughter confirms it.

“I didn’t know you talked to Javi at all,” Shoma exclaims.

Keiji makes a considering noise. “Not a lot. We just text sometimes, when he’s worried about Yuzu, or Miki, or skating, or has interesting gossip.”

“Keiji,” Shoma starts, and has to laugh. “Keiji, are you a secret advice column?”

“Feels like it sometimes,” Keiji sighs. “But don’t try to distract me! Back to your Yuzu thing.”

Shoma sighs back at him.

“It’s not a _thing_. We just talked, I told him that you and Kanako know about the soulmate thing, and he told me to remind you not to talk to anyone about it. We talked about skating, coaches, stuff like that. Small talk.”

“You hate small talk!”

“It was fine!”

“So,” Keiji starts hesitantly, “you’re okay?”

Shoma nods, remembers Keiji can’t actually see him. They should probably video call.

“Yes. I think so. Things were a little tense when he... He said he didn’t know I didn’t have anyone to talk about the soulmate thing, and that he didn’t intend for that to happen. I told him it doesn’t matter but... I think he took it kinda personally.”

Keiji laughs. “How could he not. Everything about this is personal.”

“But it’s none of his business?”

“It kinda is, now. I mean, you aren’t strangers anymore. So it is kind of his business if you feel bad, now that you have decided that you could try to be friends?”

That’s-- Shoma hasn’t considered that, too wrapped up in the idea that Yuzuru didn’t mean his offer, or was trying to manipulate him in some way, and too scared of getting too close or getting his hopes up.

That hasn’t happened though. Instead, Yuzuru had given him space, had helped him, and had taken every chance that Shoma had offered him. He’s been, for the past weeks, kind of ridiculously nice.

“He really cares about people,” Keiji says. “I know he’s weird and intense about skating to the extent that he doesn’t really do anything else, but. He also cares a lot.”

“Yeah. I’m getting that.”

Keiji, as usual, proves his ability of being incredibly insightful. Shoma entertains, for a split second, the idea that Keiji can read his mind, but decides that it is just years of competing together that got him used to Shoma’s convoluted way of thinking.

“So you don’t think it’s just for show, anymore?”

Shoma thinks, about the hidden nook in the restaurant, the way most of their conversations have been held in the relative privacy of changing rooms and the rink, when it was just the two of them. Thinks about the extra minutes of ice time.

“No. I think... By now I think he actually meant it. I don’t know why, though.”

“Does it matter?” Keiji asks, and the answer is implied. It doesn’t.

“Stop being so wise, it makes you sound a billion years old.”

Keiji laughs. He changes the topic, after.

“So tonight is the beginning of the end,” he ends up saying, once he’s calmed down. “Three more shows and you get a break.”

“Yes,” Shoma sighs. “I’m glad. I’ll miss it, but--“

“You are only off for two weeks! And those two weeks are crammed full with plans already. You won’t have time to miss it at all.”

Shoma laughs. “True.”

Keiji makes complex things seem straightforward, doesn’t overthink and wind himself up in knots the way Shoma is wont to do. It makes him a good person to talk to when Shoma needs to just listen to his gut, but can’t quite tell what it is telling him.

“Do you feel okay about spending time with him now?” Keiji asks, after a moment of silence that feels comfortable, lived in.

“It’s weird,” Shoma says, “but it’s actually really easy now. He’s easy to talk to, now that we’re... now that we’re just team mates, I guess. Without all the extra stuff.”

“Yeah,” Keiji sighs, “Yuzu is like that. It’s kind of great and kind of really strange, how chill he can be for such an intense person.”

Shoma laughs, because it is true.

***

Shoma is surprisingly good at avoiding quad battles, but it seems his luck has run out when Javi circles in on him with a manic look in his eye.

Practice this morning had been solid, spent on a few run-throughs of his show program, a few run-throughs of his new competitive short, and a bunch of jumps that he does just because Yuzuru and Javi skate in circles around him by the end.

They really push each other to train harder, he’d thought.

Right now, he wishes they had decided against pushing him, too.

Shoma isn’t fast enough to escape from Javi’s clutches, and people are cheering him on now, so he can’t hide anymore. Yuzuru looks on, like some sort of benevolent lord, as Javi pulls Shoma from the crowd of skaters with an arm firmly locked around his shoulders.

His program, unlike the final rehearsals, had been good. It felt like Shoma finally got his feet back under him. It also helped that Mihoko called him after practice, telling him she would be back the next day. He’s looking forward to her review of his performance. His step sequence is still kind of empty, but he is working on interpreting the music, on keeping his intensity and landing the jumps on the music, and he feels he did quite well.

Maybe they can add some stuff, maybe shift the jump outline a little.

He’s got plans. He’s excited for it.

Javi pushes Shoma in front of him, ruffling up his hair while Shoma protests.

“I know you can do it,” he says, in Spanish accent strong in his English due to his excitement, and laughs his delighted, full-bellied laugh. “Show them!”

Javi throws out his other arm to encompass the audience in true showman’s fashion. The crowd cheers, and Shoma wants to sink into the ground.

Quad battles are hell.

His final spotlight in the last group number of the show is bad enough, but this is like that moment, with the intensity turned up. He knows it’s meant to be fun, he knows no one takes it seriously when they fall in a quad battle, that it is all a joyful exercise of exuberance.

They aren’t actually focusing on every single one of his flaws, they aren’t going to analyze and take apart his jumping technique or make fun of him in a mean way.

It’ll be fine.

It’s fine.

Javi pushes Shoma out towards the clear expanse of ice, and Shoma goes. Thinks about which quad to attempt, and settles, in the end, on the flip, which is his favorite, and anyway, there isn’t really anyone else who attempts that one currently, Shoma doesn’t think. He has yet to land it fully rotated in competition, but he will. He is going to.

He turns to set up the jump, does a series of crossovers to pick up speed. They other skaters are watching, laughing with each other, trying to decide who goes next.

Yuzuru is watching, eyes dark, hands clasped together. Shoma meets his eyes, for just a moment, and maybe he imagines the slight quirk of Yuzuru’s mouth towards something like a smile, something like a smirk, but-

Shoma goes down into a cantilever, enjoys the uptick of noise in the audience as he stretches out, feels the burn in his thighs and back, comes up, transitions into the flip, and it’s fine, it’s fine until it isn’t.

He lands the flip, a little underrotated, and almost touches down with his hand. But just almost. He makes it, returns to the group of skaters with his head down in disappointment. He really wanted to jump it perfectly this time.  

He’s received with cheers, though, some catcalls. Stéphane pats his shoulder as Shoma passes, Johnny cheers. Javi throws him a warm grin, and a “Good job!” high five.

Shoma can feel himself blush, wants to hide his head in his hands. Then the audience suddenly goes insane, cheering and screaming.

Yuzuru is skating out, slowly, greeting and waving, before turning back and looking, suddenly, intense and focused, falling into competition mode. Yuzuru in competition mode is terrifying, and astounding, and, Shoma admits to himself, with a little pang that feels like shame but not quite, he looks hot.

Yuzuru’s transitions are amazing, intricate things, and he does them just to show off, before launching himself into a quad sal, lands it solidly, and launches himself into another quad sal, which goes over a little shaky, a little off, but Yuzuru manages to land it, only puts a hand on the ice to steady himself.

The crowd is screaming, the skaters around Shoma laughing.

“He’s amazing,” he hears.

“No. He’s insane.”

“He’s the only one who could do _that_!”

Shoma nods.

They’re right. When Yuzuru is on, when he’s focused and strong and uninjured, he’s on a completely different level.

***

Dinner, after, is a large affair. When everyone who wants to come has collected in front of the rink, the group is large enough that Shoma feels slightly overwhelmed even though he has spent the past weeks with these people and knows them pretty well by now.

Who is he kidding. He is very overwhelmed.

Kanako appears out of nowhere, cheers when she sees him.

“You’re here!”

And then she’s off again, busy with coordinating the trek from the rink to the restaurant. Shoma looks around, trying to find a familiar face in the chaos, but everybody he knows is already involved in conversations, and he doesn’t want to disturb them.

Nobu finds him, involves him in a short conversation that has Shoma relax a little, before being whisked off by someone else to help someone do something. They spoke too fast and so obviously not to Shoma that he didn’t really catch their meaning.

He keeps zoning out.

The mix of languages spoken makes it hard to stay focused on any one conversation. Sometimes, Shoma feels barely proficient in Japanese, but many of the people here speak English, their own native tongue, and a few random words and sentences in other languages. He’s heard Johnny knows something to say in 9 languages. It seems insane to Shoma, who can barely state a straight sentence without considering his words for a minute.

He just follows along with the group, drifting by the edges, waiting for things to calm down, but they don’t. He catches glances of Mao laughing and gesturing, Kanako smiling fondly at someone, Stéphane is there, and then he is gone in the blink of an eye.

Yuzuru is standing with a bigger group of people, but he isn’t talking. Shoma looks at him, and thinks about joining them, maybe. It seems like a good group, and he could hide behind Yuzuru’s social graces if Yuzuru were to let him.

Yuzuru catches him looking, and Shoma can feel himself blush. How awkward must he look, standing alone in this big a group of people that he knows but not talking to anyone. Yuzuru mouths something at him, but Shoma can’t tell what he is saying. He looks down, at his shoes. They’re a bit scruffy, but they are very, very comfortable.

They’ve stopped again, someone arguing about how to split up to drive to the restaurant, because they’ve established that it is too far to walk. That only took about fifteen minutes.

Shoma sighs.

“Hey, Shoma, join us!”

And there’s Javi, sent out like a knight in shining armor. Shoma nods. Javi gestures over the their little group of English speaking people.

“You can ride with us!”

Shoma looks around for Mao and Kanako, but they will probably split up so the groups will find each other again. He shrugs. Might as well.

The car isn’t a tight fit, necessarily, since there is only four of them in the end. Shoma has had worse, if one counts Keiji’s knobbly knees as a seat rather than a torture device. But he’s sitting pressed between Javi and an American girl with very red lipstick and a short dress. She’s very pretty, but she keeps making that face at Shoma. The face women make when they consider him adorable. A cooing face.

Shoma frowns, turns to Javi, who is looking out of the window. When he catches Shoma looking, he smiles slightly.

“I’m just a bit sad Miki isn’t here for this.”

Shoma nods, smiles back. He has seen them hanging out, they seem close, and Miki did come to hang out when they were in other cities. Javi sighs.

“I miss her a lot.”

Yuzuru, of course, got the front seat. He claimed it was because he had the address of the restaurant, but Shoma now knows how bad Yuzuru’s sense of orientation is. Someone else really should navigate, but everybody just accepts that Yuzuru is doing this.

When Javi sighs, Yuzuru turns around, says something in English that Shoma can’t translate. His Japanese accent is still strong, which does and doesn’t help. Javi laughs next to Shoma, he can feel the reverberations against his side.

They keep chatting, after that, switching between languages for Shoma and the other girl’s sake, but Shoma doesn’t focus too closely, just lets the sounds soothe him. His eyes get heavy, unfocused, and his head keeps falls back. He thinks, for a moment, that if Yuzuru manages to get them all lost this time, he could maybe squeeze in a nap.

But it turns out Yuzuru is actually rather good at navigating a car. They make it through the city quickly and avoid major traffic, and by the time they arrive at the hotel, Shoma feels a little cheated. How is Yuzuru good at navigating in a car and so terrible at navigating by foot. That’s impossible.

Dinner passes fast, and before Shoma knows it, the group has moved on to a strange, loud club, and somebody has pulled him onto the dance floor and someone else pushed a sweet and tangy drink into his hand. He can see skaters dotted throughout the crowd, dancing, letting loose.

Shoma rolls with it, and takes another sip. There is probably alcohol in it, but he can’t taste it. A little alcohol would be nice, anyway. The song isn’t something he knows, but it has a clear beat, a melody that is repetitive and clean. It’s easy to follow the crowd as they move along, to shift from left to right.

There is an arm around Shoma’s shoulders and a hip pressed to his. Johnny is shaking his hips, laughing, so Shoma follows his lead, moves his hips like Johnny does. Hands press around his waist, pulling him back against a body. Johnny dances off to bother Stéphane, who has reappeared again. The hands on Shoma’s waist loosen, and he tries to catch a glance of who it was, but they’re already gone.

It was nice, though, to be held like that. The drink makes Shoma feel free and loose and relaxed, but it also makes him crave the heat of a body pressed to his. He delves deeper into the crowd, but the dancers there are all strangers, and for all that he wants touch, he wants to touch someone he knows. He keeps moving, keeps dancing, keeping mostly away from hands and hips as well as he can, just enjoying the anonymity of this crowd.

Oh, there’s Kanako. Shoma attaches himself to her like a limpet, arms around her waist and chin on her shoulder. He has to lean up to reach, which feels nice. Kanako laughs, turns around in his arms and hugs him back, a firm, solid squeeze.

“I haven’t seen you all night!” she yells, over the music.

“I was--“ he turns to search for Javi and Yuzu and their driver, and the American woman, but he can only see Javi. He points at him. Kanako laughs, waves Javi over and pushes Shoma into his arms.

“Here. You created this mess, you take care of it!” She laughs, so Shoma knows she doesn’t mean it.

He’s not that drunk, is he? He only had the one drink.

His drink is long gone.

“Where did it go?” he whines.  

Javi is warm against Shoma’s back, and he’s just tall enough that Shoma can lean his head back against him and slump. Javi wraps his arms around Shoma’s waist and starts to swing gently from one leg to the other.

“Oh!” Shoma realizes. “I want to dance!”

His drink is still gone, though, which makes him sad. Javi laughs, and lets go of him to bring him something else, maybe.

Shoma dances. He swings his hips and his arms and bounces and it’s fun. It feels almost like being on his own in the dance studio, or like putting that first skate to the ice. He’s a little dizzy and fun and exciting. A tall boy takes hold of Shoma’s hips, draws him in so Shoma can put his arms around his shoulders.

He had dark hair that falls into his forehead, and nice, dark eyes, and a t-shirt that rides up over his hip bones.

Shoma likes his hip bones, so he runs his hands over them.

The boy laughs, pulls Shoma closer until Shoma’s hips are pressed flush against him, until Shoma’s chin is pressed to his shoulder.

Over it, he spies Yuzuru, who is dancing with abandon. He looks ridiculous, his long arms and legs everywhere, skinny frame and skinny hips and a bright smile on his sweaty face. It’s amazing.

Shoma wants to dance with _him_ like this.

He disentangles himself from the boy, who holds onto him a moment longer than Shoma likes. He shakes his hands off, and fights his way to Yuzuru, who sees him coming, eyes widening when he notices the other boy still holding onto Shoma. Yuzuru moves toward him, maybe. Maybe Shoma is very fast, he can’t tell.

Shoma gets close to him, almost too close for comfort, or maybe somebody pushes him, or maybe his equilibrium just abandons him, because suddenly he has his arms wrapped around Yuzuru’s waist and is holding on tightly.

This is very, very close.

Shoma got close to the other people he had danced with, but this feels closer. One of his legs is between Yuzuru’s, and Shoma’s arms wander up to wrap around Yuzuru’s shoulders rather than his waist out of their own volition. Standing like this, Yuzuru’s hip bones dig into Shoma’s belly a little, and his shifts up, onto his tiptoes, to align them better, pulls himself up. It’s automatic, like the way Shoma’s head fits into the crook of Yuzuru’s neck.

Shoma has nothing to do with that, or the way it makes Yuzuru’s breath shudder. Maybe Shoma should move back, but there’s no space to stand anywhere else, and he doesn’t really want to, anyway.

They aren’t really moving anymore, perhaps they are the only calm place in this club. Shoma nuzzles his face into Yuzuru’s shoulder, mouth to collarbone, and sighs. This is good. This is what he wanted.

He can feel Yuzuru’s arms come around his waist hesitantly, barely touching, and he moves closer, grips Yuzuru tighter as if that will make him understand that Shoma wants him to hold on, too. Yuzuru’s hands spread out, supporting Shoma’s weight to lean against Yuzuru more fully, taking pressure of his toes in a way that makes Shoma want to climb him, wrap his legs around his hips and just let Yuzuru carry Shoma like a very small monkey and a very big cat.

He must have said that out loud, because Yuzuru is shaking with laughter against Shoma’s chest, and there’s a familiar giggle behind him, and then someone is tickling him and Shoma laughs against Yuzuru’s skin, which turns into gooseflesh, and Shoma wants to lick it, maybe bite his collarbone. Create a bruise there that will be his alone.

He doesn’t, because whoever is tickling him wraps around his back and grabs his wrists, and pulls him away from Yuzuru and turns him around.

“Oh, how are you so drunk!” Mao exclaims when she turns him around, and Shoma just buries his head in her shoulder to hide himself. He doesn’t want anyone to see the expression on his face, the blush that must have spread down to his belly to make him feel so warm.

Mao laughs, says something to Yuzuru, before turning away.

“Let’s go home, Shoma,” she says, quietly, just to him. “You’ve had trouble enough tonight.”

***

Mihoko’s call wakes him up. He doesn’t have a hangover, because Mao forced about six glasses of water down his throat when she brought him back to the hotel last night. He slept in his jeans though, which left painful red indents on his skin. He carefully takes stock of himself. Is memories seem to be all there, but-

“Did you really get drunk last night?” Mihoko asks, voice dry.

Shoma croaks out an affirmative, too tired to deny anything.

“I had one drink,” he says. “I didn’t think it would knock me out like that?”

“Oh,” Mihoko says, and she sounds worried, rather than exasperated, a switch so sudden it makes Shoma dizzy. He can’t think so fast, yet.

“Who gave you that drink?”

Shoma doesn’t remember. But pieces of memory start making sense. The weird floatiness, the neediness. The way he clung to Javi, the way he danced, the way he stuck to _Yuzuru_ \--

Oh no. Shoma can feel himself flush just thinking about it. He will have to apologize for that. And just when they had established something like a baseline for this friendship project.

Oh, he’d made him so uncomfortable.

Yuzuru hadn’t even hugged him back.

A cold feeling spreads in Shoma’s stomach.

“I’ll call a doctor to check that you’re okay,” Mihoko says. “Do you feel fit enough to go to practice? I’ll call, maybe we can fit you in before that-“

And she’s off to organize his life again.

If Shoma had been on his own, he thinks, he would probably have just left it. He feels ok, the roofie seems to have worn off, and all he has to do is apologize to everybody he clung on to last night.

***

His doctor is a serious looking woman in her late fifties, who insists on doing the full blood work and a thorough physical exam.

“Soulmate?” she asks, probing at a particularly nasty looking bruise on Shoma’s hip.

“Yes,” he forces out, “but not that one. That one is mine.”

He has been trying not to look at his bruises too much, trying not to reconstruct Yuzuru’s training mistakes and small accidents from the marks on his skin. The doctor looks, tests to see whether anything is more serious than it looks. It seems she’s treated athletes before, because apart from the usual health checks, she also asks Shoma about his training, just to make sure. She asks, a few times, about his daily routine, about stress, about his work schedule.

Shoma knows his answers get shorter the more she asks but he’s tired.

He’s fine. The blood tests will be back the next day, but he’s fine.

“Are you feeling ok?” Mihoko asks him later, when they are on their way to the rink.

Shoma nods, smiles at her when she continues to look concerned. “Yes. It’s stupid, because nothing bad happened. I just danced, there were always friends taking care of me and looking after me. I’m alright, I promise.”

When Mihoko doesn’t look less concerned, he adds. “Mao brought me home.”

What had brought Mao to sacrifice her night Shoma keeps to himself, but Mihoko smiles at the mention of Mao. The two of them were never that close, back in the day, Coach Machiko was primarily responsible for Mao’s training, but Mihoko still feels fond of Mao. She still trusts her.

Shoma does, too.

He expects weird looks or maybe a few comments when he enters the changing room, but no one does anything but greet him and smile. Shoma still blushes, and tries to change as quickly as possible.

He knows, rationally, that none of what happened last night was his fault: he didn’t take the drug voluntarily, and everything he did after that was in a haze of drug-induced neediness, but he still did it. Danced with strangers, clung and touched and-

He blushes more, hides in a corner to change.

Yuzuru, as expected, is already out on the ice. His music is on, and he seems to be running through his program. It’s the short, Shoma thinks, a fast, electric piece that brings out the detail in Yuzuru’s skating, his confidence but his arrogance, too. It’s well-earned. He deserves to feel proud.

Shoma stands there, waits. Someone comes up beside him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t catch up with you again last night,” Javi says.

Shoma looks at him, confused.

“I’ve heard somebody gave you something. I should have known when you started hugging everyone, or at least when you started to dance with strangers.”

“Why? I’m not your responsibility.”

Javi frowns, with his mouth, then with his eyes.

“You really think that? It’s not-” Javi huffs, frustrated. “Look, I consider you a friend.”

“I do!” he interjects when Shoma tries to protest. Javi is Yuzuru’s friend, primarily. Just because Yuzuru and Shoma have this new friendship thing does not mean Javi has to feel like he has to follow Yuzuru’s lead, it’s...

“You may not consider me your friend, but I do. And friends take care of friends. And Kanako left you to me, and then I wandered off and something terrible could have happened. So, let me apologize. I’m sorry.”

Shoma nods, slowly.

He swallows his immediate reaction, which is refusal, an angry, teenage scream of “I’m not a child, you don’t have to take care of me.”

But it turns out, if there hadn’t been quite a lot of people who _did_ feel like they needed to watch out for him, a whole network of friends, he may have ended up trusting someone he shouldn’t.

The right choice in this conversation is to nod, and placate Javi by acknowledging his misplaced apology if it will make him feel better.  

“Thank you,” is his second choice of reaction. “For feeling that way, and for taking care of me as much as you did.”

Javi’s eyebrows raise in surprise, but he smiles. “You seem healthy enough, especially considering the epic hangovers of some, but... Are you ok?”

Shoma shrugs. “I feel fine, but we won’t know what it was until the tests come back.”

Yuzuru’s music cuts off suddenly, leaving the rink in silence.

Javi looks over to Yuzuru, who has stopped by the boards on the other side of the rink, and who is breathing heavily.

Shoma grimaces. “I was going to talk to him. I did something...”

Javi throws him a serious look before getting on the ice. “Don’t feel too bad about anything you did last night, Shoma. You didn’t do anything you have to feel ashamed of.”

Shoma swallows, swallows again. He sent a text to both Mao and Kanako, to thank them, and to apologize. They replied with worry and affection and some emojis Shoma couldn’t quite decipher. On that front, as usual, Shoma has nothing to worry about.

Yuzuru is a different matter. Things with Yuzuru feel uneasy, and fragile, and it’s difficult to figure out how to be friends with him on a good day. This is not a good day.  

Shoma puts his skates to the ice, pushes off. Yes, it felt just like that. Dizzy, vertigo. He swallows hard to push his anxiety further down.

He makes his way over to where Yuzuru is leaning against the boards and still breathing heavily.

“Can I do something?”

Yuzuru looks up, finds Shoma’s face.

For the first time in the past days, he doesn’t smile in greeting, not even a superficial pretend-smile. He just keeps breathing, face covered in sweat, lips a lilac tinge, expression intense. Then he shakes his head.

Shoma feels useless. He wants to reach out and touch, because Yuzuru seems to consider that comforting, but he doesn’t know how, what would be appropriate, especially after yesterday’s events.

Shoma leans against the boards next to him, but not too close, and resigns himself to waiting until Yuzuru can breathe again. But Yuzuru makes an impatient noise, then an equally impatient gesture. Shoma takes this as a sign to speak.

The rink fills with the other skaters from their group. Johnny looks awful, while Stéphane looks like he got a solid eight hours of sleep. Others pass too fast for Shoma to see them well enough, but he figures they are hungover as well. Javi whizzes by, looks concerned but doesn’t stop. He’s probably used to this. Yuzuru doesn’t seem to bothered, apart from his general air of impatience.

Yuzuru’s breath is slowing.

Shoma realizes once again, that Yuzuru has been trying very hard with him. Not to push, not to be too much, not to cross any boundaries, because he doesn’t know where they lie. It makes Shoma’s chest constrict, with anxiety, or maybe with empathy.

It seems unfair to talk when Yuzuru is breathing hard and can’t really reply, but it’s maybe better this way.

“I’m sorry about yesterday. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, and I apologize for just hugging you like that and for destroying your night.”

Yuzuru frowns at him.

Shoma waits.

“Did you really just apologize for hugging me,” Yuzuru rasps, but he still succeeds in sounding disbelieving.

Shoma nods. The ice in front of them is already scratched. He throws a look at Yuzuru, and realizes only then that his gasping has turned into laughter.

“Oh, Shoma.”

“But-” Shoma starts.

Yuzuru puts his hand to his hip, the other resting on his chest as if to feel his lungs expand, a comfort to himself. He breathes in deeply, trying to keep the laughter from constricting his lungs, perhaps. His lips are back to their usual pink, his eyes shiny.

“It’s fine,” Yuzuru interrupts, reaching out with his hand to grasp Shoma’s wrist to make his point. “You can hug me any time. I was just worried, you were so out of it.”

Shoma frowns, shakes his head. Everybody he wanted to apologize to has been waving him off, or apologized in return, like Javi. It’s completely unexpected. He laughs, a little, in disbelief.

“I’m sorry for worrying you? I feel like I made everybody worry.”

Yuzuru’s face turns serious, eyes intense. “It wasn’t your fault. You had one drink, it wasn’t your fault.” He pauses, turns to Shoma.

The silence is thick between them, tense. This is one of those moments in which Shoma can almost see Yuzuru reaching out to touch his elbow, or his shoulder, maybe even his waist. He can visualize it like one of his imagery practices, the motion clear in the air between them.

Yuzuru doesn’t move.

Shoma nods, smiles up at him.

“I’m just glad you’re well.” Yuzuru says, softly, so quiet Shoma has trouble catching the words.

Yuzuru smiles back at him, and nods like that’s final, pushes off the board to skate off. He looks back at Shoma expectantly, and Shoma grins, follows Yuzuru out onto the ice.

***

Practice goes well, with Mihoko watching closely from the boards, waving Shoma over a few times to point out small improvements on his step sequences, additions they could make, encouragements.

“Your axel looks very good. The other jumps you will work on in the US.” She nods, satisfied. “I’m glad you could use the shows as practice. How do you feel about your performances?”

Shoma shrugs. “Some were good, others were abysmal. I have a lot of work to do.”

Mihoko nods, looks at him. Then her eyes shift to the skaters behind him, and Shoma knows, just can predict, from knowing her, and her facial expressions, that she is looking at Yuzuru, probably. It’s in the slight tightness around her eyes, the slight crease of worry between her eyebrows.

“What about the rest of it?”

Shoma smiles at her. “It’s all good.”

Mihoko frowns. “I saw you talking before, Shoma. It doesn’t look like you are just pretending.”

“We are just friends,” he whispers. It’s a strange conversation to have during practice, with others potentially able to listen in.

Mihoko doesn’t care.

“Have you talked about-“ she cuts off sharply when Javi passes by, concentrated look on his face.

Shoma shrugs. “We don’t need to. We aren’t that, nothing has changed.”

“You can’t delete a thing like that, Shoma.” Mihoko sighs, looks him in the eye. When Shoma looks away, her stare too intense for him to deal with, her hand comes down on his, holding it tightly enough against the boards for him to meet her eyes again.

“You can’t pretend that what is there isn’t there. If this is what you want, that’s fine, but you have to acknowledge that the two of you share that connection. But you can also be friends. It can help with that, too, you know. Soulmates aren’t always romantic.”

Shoma nods, sinking feeling in his chest. Mihoko sighs, again, lets go of the death grip she had on his hand and pats it, a soft stroke that almost makes up for the truth she’s just told him.

***

Yuzuru never touches him.

Now that he’s visualized it, Shoma notices the lack of it, the way Yuzuru seems to consciously hold back. He’s a physical person, generally. He likes to throw his arm around people, reaches out to ruffle the hair of young children and happily gives side-hugs to his female fans.

With his friends, he’s almost always somehow touching, be that a knee pressed to a knee when sitting, thighs close, or a hand on an elbow, a shoulder.

“You can hug me any time,” he’d said, and Shoma can see why Yuzuru wouldn’t think of it as a big deal: he hugs Javi, hugs Johnny, hugs Mao.

Being the exception hurts, a little, in that soft spot under Shoma’s ribs that likes to remind him that that’s his soulmate, who isn’t his soulmate, but who is trying to be his friend.

Shoma doesn’t know, now that he’s approaching the friendship as something real, rather than something they are pretending to do, how close is too close. He’s fine hugging Keiji, or Kanako, who are close friends. He likes hugging Mihoko, for the sense of security she gives him as his coach, his advisor.

He likes, even, the careful way Javi has when he attempts to draw Shoma from his shell, with shoulders knocking into shoulders in that rough-housing, brotherly way, or the way Nobu will hold out an arm so Shoma can hide against his side when he’s embarrassed.

There are a lot of ways that physicality is friendly, probably.

Yuzuru’s hands were so careful on his waist, so hesitant to hold on too tightly that his touch was almost a tickle. Shoma had to stretch up a little, stand on tip-toes, to wrap his arms around his neck, to bury his face in Yuzuru’s neck.

He noticed a lot of things he usually doesn’t notice about hugs. Like how warm he felt, how easy it was to relax into it.

Maybe that was the drug, though?

“Earth to Shoma!” Kanako laughs, and pokes him in the side. Shoma startles, flushes hotly.

“You looked deep in thought there. Anything interesting?”

“No, no, nothing.” He sounds embarrassed, but it just makes Kanako worried where usually she’d try to extort the reason out of Shoma. He cringes.

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah. We’ll know more tomorrow, but I feel fine.”

Kanako nods, throws an arm around Shoma’s waist.

“Come on, we have to get ready for the performance. Have you eaten? No? What are you doing?”

Fact is, he’d been trying to, had been on his way to the hotel restaurant when he’d seen Yuzuru sit there, deep in conversation, and then. Well, his thoughts always likes to turn in circles.

Shoma yawns.

Kanako laughs. “It’ll be an early night for all of us. Let’s go get food, maybe we can manage a really short nap before the show!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments, I adore the feedback and cheering and I'll try to respond more!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not a hug unless Shoma declares it a hug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta-ed, so any typos u find u may leave in the comments.

Something about the show lights grates on Shoma’s nerves today, hurts the back of his eyes. He can’t skate with his eyes closed, but he wants to try, because this is not a headache, but rather a deep-seated tiredness rooted in being around a crowd of people intent on performing even off-ice.

He gets through the first group performance, even forgets his irritation as he skates, focus completely on charming the audience. But as soon as he’s on solid ground again, it’s as if all the sound he’d been able to ignore rushes in to suffocate him. He smiles, painfully, and goes to find a quiet corner to sit in until he’s up again.

Backstage is always a mess: organizers with headsets rushing around trying to find skaters, solving last minute problems, skaters in various states of disarray, costumes half-on and half-off, joking with each other, warming up, the tech staff checking that everything is in place. There are no secret hallways or quiet rooms; the best Shoma can find is a nook created by a big square machine with many switches and a wall, which he sinks into, back to the wall.

He should change, but it has some time: he’s fallen into a routine when it comes to those aspects of show skating: knowing when to be where so he causes the least amount of inconvenience. He has a sense of the timing of the show behind the scenes, even if he can’t quite seem to pick up on the on-ice changes to choreography or music fast enough.

He sighs, leans his forehead against his knee, and breathes, for just a moment.

“Is he asleep?” says a female voice, quietly.

“I think so,” Yuzuru whispers back, hesitantly. There is a sound like fabric shifting on fabric, and then something warm covers Shoma’s back and neck, drapes over his head a little to block out the light. He stays carefully still, almost stops breathing. Yuzuru must be leaning over him, because he tucks the fabric down and around Shoma’s arms with careful hands.

“I’ll wake him in a few minutes. It’s ok.”

They leave. It must be a jacket, Shoma thinks, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t want to dislodge it when he’s warm, comfortable. It smells like Yuzuru, neutral, just like soap or washing powder and a little bit, and it makes Shoma smile because it reminds him of Keiji, too, who wields the bottle like a weapon, like Febreeze. Just a little, just enough to be familiar, and vaguely comforting.

He breathes, turns his head so the fabric slides against his cheek like a caress, buries his face in it as much as he can without shifting too much. If Yuzuru is going to wake him in a few minutes, enough time to spare for Shoma to prepare for his segment, then he can probably close his eyes for that long. Kanako had kept him from that mini-nap she’d promised by plying him with food and conversation, and then they had to rush to the rink.

He should set his phone just to be safe, but he doesn’t want to move.

It feels like Shoma has barely decided to rest when there is a hand on his shoulder.

“Shoma,” the organizer says, “you have to wake up and go change now.”

Shoma’s eyes snap open, and he pulls the cover down to blink at the organizer blearily, nods.

“Don’t fall back asleep, please.”

“No, no, I’m getting up,” Shoma says, and moves out of his little corner. He can’t tell how much time has passed. Yuzuru’s jacket slips down around his shoulders, and Shoma shivers, shifts the jacket until he can find the arms to slip into them. He rubs his eyes, bows his thanks to the man who had the very uncomfortable job of being his alarm clock. He just smiles, and is already moving on, speaking into his headset so rapidly that Shoma cannot understand what he’s saying.

He feels mildly stiff from sitting curled up, and he realizes that he was woken up with time to spare, so he starts a slow jog around the hallways, stretching a little as he goes. He doesn’t quite feel awake yet, but his body is warming up half on auto-pilot. There is something lodged in the back of Shoma’s throat that he refuses to call disappointment.

“Is that--” asks Mao from behind Shoma. Her hand tugs at the collar of the jacket Shoma is wearing, and oh.

Oh. He hadn’t thought about what people might _think_.

“That’s Yuzuru’s!” Mao exclaims, and there is a sneaking delight in her voice that spreads over the entirety of her face. “Why are you wearing Yuzuru’s jacket, Shoma?”

Shoma looks at her, and Mao’s grin grows impossibly wider. Shoma is not surprised that she’s Kanako’s best friend. They are peas in a pod, and Shoma dislikes peas.

“Because I was cold?”

Mao snorts, tugs at his collar again. “Yeah, right.”

Shoma feels himself blush, but Mao lets him go to change into his costume.

He takes Yuzuru’s jacket off, and looks at it. He should return it, probably, Yuzuru might need it. But Yuzuru had also said that he would wake him, and he didn’t, and he knows where to find it, anyway. He shrugs to himself, and folds the jacket with the rest of his costume, leaving it in his assigned spot, next to the jeans and t-shirt that he came to the rink with.

He is refastening his boots when Javi comes in, sweaty and smiling and talking, over his shoulder, to someone who must be standing outside. Shoma can hear tinkling laughter and a teasing voice, and recognizes Miki immediately.

He tries not to look. He tries very hard to avert his eyes and concentrate on the laces he is tying but Javi takes off his shirt and turns to Shoma without a hint of care.

“Good nap?”

Shoma looks up at him, no unusual looking bruises at all, no layered colors on his skin, and nods. Javi pulls on an incredibly sparkly shirt he is wearing for his next number.

“Ready to amaze and astonish?”

Shoma doesn’t know when Javi learned that expression, but it makes him smile.

“Let’s rock this thing.” He says, English curling in his mouth but a fair attempt nonetheless, he thinks. Javi laughs, delighted, and nods.

Shoma does okay with his program. Since the choreography is a work in progress, he can’t quite settle into it as he’d like to, but the audience reacts well to the intensity of it, cheering when he lands his jumps, clapping along with his step sequences, though they still feel a little rough. His last quad was a little shaky on the landing, tight and turned in, but. He can see it all taking shape.

This coming season, he’ll be able to compete with the top skaters. He doesn’t know if he’s good enough to win, but he wants to, craves the rush of performing at his best and being rewarded for it with an intensity that is easy to channel into his programs.

Usually, when he talks to Mihoko about his goals, they focus on attacking, on improving, on taking challenges like they are battles to win, and on working on every part of Shoma’s skating. But in the back of Shoma’s head, he can’t help but feel that they are talking about winning the wrong way. Yes, Shoma wants to get gold, he wants to succeed. But sometimes it feels like, rather than win, Shoma wants to not lose.

He wonders, sometimes, watching someone like Javi skate, if there are ways not to lose that don’t involve dreams of gold. The one time he’d said something like it in practice, coach Machiko had looked at him, stopped Mihoko from speaking with a hand held up, and said, with a voice hard as granite, with a voice that had lead to Olympic medals, “if you think like that you might as well not compete at all. You have to aim for first place with a pinpoint precision, or you won’t land on the podium at all.”

Shoma hasn’t spoken about being satisfied with a second or third place ever since, and he set out to achieve a consistent, clean triple axel with dogged persistence after that conversation. It took him longer than expected to land it, but he did it. Dozens of bruises and iced limbs and tears of frustration later, and he’s here.

Wiping sweat off his brow, about to skate a finale with the best of the best. He isn’t sure he deserves it, but he wants it. He has wanted to prove himself for so long.

The queasy feeling Shoma had since he woke up, the irritation that has been gathering since he arrived at the rink, they do not let up as he steps onto the ice for the finale. He doesn’t mess up the choreography noticeably, only a little late on some entries, and his spotlight moment is good.

When everybody starts cheering, gathering to the side of the rink to celebrate the guest acts and the audience and everybody involved in the show, Shoma can feel the tension building low in the back of his neck, rolls his shoulders to keep them from climbing up to his ears. The lights are bright, and the ice feels crowded and there is security in that, because already there is the first skater to be pushed out into the beginning of a quad battle.

Shoma shifts behind someone taller than him to hide from the usual instigators, but Yuzuru catches him and skates around the other skaters to catch up to Shoma and by the time he sees him coming there is no way to flee. He tries, but the other skaters know no mercy.

Yuzuru comes at him with outstretched hands, and before he can think, Shoma has taken hold of his wrists to keep him from- what, Shoma doesn’t know. Ruffling his hair, perhaps, or tickling him.

Yuzuru has never done these things, has been careful not to touch Shoma at all, but he can feel the warm pressure of Yuzuru spreading out his jacket over Shoma’s back like phantom hands.

And Yuzuru goes quiet, whatever he was going to exclaim stuck in his throat. He’s looking at Shoma’s hands on his forearms with wide eyes, and Shoma lets go quickly.

Yuzuru makes a punched-out sound, and catches Shoma’s hand before he can pull it back, and Shoma. Shoma lets him. Yuzuru’s hand is warm, his fingers longer and stronger than they look, but they curl around Shoma’s just right, fitting into the gaps and curling over his knuckles, and Shoma curls his, fits his palm against Yuzuru’s, and for a moment, the rest of the noise and the lights and the bustle of the skaters around them drowns away.

Shoma pulls in a shaky breath, chest tight. He can feel his hand go clammy, but Yuzuru doesn’t let go, just stands there, looking at him. A slow curl of a smile is growing in the corners of his mouth.

Shoma has held hands with a lot of people, for final bows and when congratulating and it has never felt like this. Yuzuru lets their hands fall between their bodies, and turns to watch Javi coerce someone else into performing a crazy quad jump, and he laughs when Javi motions Yuzuru to follow suit and shakes his head.

Shoma holds his hand, and tries not to shake, breathes against the pressure on his chest.

He’s held hands with a lot of people. There is no reason that this would be different, if Shoma doesn’t make it different. Friends can hold hands.

The quad battles dissolve fast, after that, and everybody lines up for the bows. Shoma and Yuzu, already attached to each other, end up in the middle of the long line of skaters. They have to let go to turn, but their hands find each other, again, and again.

The natural thing to do would be to just let the grip Shoma has on Yuzuru’s hand dissolve as the skaters begin to do one last lap around the rink, but he can’t quite force himself to.

Yuzuru solves it by turning his wrist so his hand is wrapped around Shoma’s wrist, and skates off, pulling Shoma along like Shoma is in any way reluctant to do this last lap. He isn’t, but Yuzuru’s firm grip feels nice. He skates, and waves, and Yuzuru laughs and yells thank you and it’s--

It should feel like standing in his shadow, but Yuzu turns around to him, smiling, pointing out posters with Shoma’s name on them.

“They’re amazing!”

And Shoma can’t help but agree.

***

They lose track of each other, at some point. There are too many high fives, half hugs of people half-delirious with after-show euphoria. Shoma is swept up by it, for a few minutes, until he grows tired.

He’s in a shuttle back to the hotel, on his own, before he even knows what he’s doing. It’s only when he unpacks his back to let his skates air out and to throw his costumes into the wash over night, that he realizes that he took Yuzuru’s jacket, leaving Yuzuru without.

He should return it. He doesn’t know Yuzuru’s room number, or if he’s even in, but it feels like gentle revenge to text Kanako about it. She replies with a number that must be a floor over Shoma’s room, and a string of emojis. Then, two minutes later that Shoma spends fiddling with the jacket, thinking about taking a shower before trying to find Yuzu, thinking about whether it’s too late to go knocking.

“He said he was tired, so he’ll be there. Go!”

Kanako knows him a little too well. Shoma goes.

He stands in front of Yuzuru’s door for long moments in which his heart is trying to jump out of his chest. He thinks about what to say, how to say it, where to even start, thinks about whether he can just hold out the jacket to Yuzuru, bow his thanks, and leave.

There’s a loud thunk behind the door. The hotel rooms are pretty well isolated, Shoma hasn’t heard any noises at all from his neighbors, so that means that this was a seriously loud thump.

For a split second, Shoma wonders whether he’ll find the mark that matches the noise on his body the next day. Then, Shoma knocks, made a little too frantic by the idea of Yuzu hurting himself.

There is a moment of absolute stillness, before the door opens very slowly.

“Oh! Shoma?”

Yuzuru is red in the face and his hair is a mess and he looks like-

Oh. Maybe the noise wasn’t due to Yuzu falling and hitting himself against something. Maybe it was--

Shoma holds out the jacket. Yuzuru looks down at it, up at Shoma.

“Oh. Thank you. You could have just kept it till tomorrow. But thank you, for bringing it over, you really didn’t have to.”

Shoma shakes his head, eyes still wide at his realization, when Yuzuru motions to his room.

“Do you want to come in? I was just--” his smile turns sheepish. “I was doing image training, but I guess I should stop now that I’ve knocked the lamp into the wall hard enough to scare the neighbors.”

Shoma lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Image training?”

Yuzuru nods, excited, and starts talking, about the idea behind it, the psychological benefits, the advantages he feels during performances, and before Shoma knows it, he’s sitting on Yuzuru’s bed, knees pulled up to his chest.

“Do you never visualize your choreography in your head, just to make sure you know what to do for sure?”

Shoma shrugs, smiles a little. “Sure? But it’s not… detailed? It’s more like. Going through the idea of the thing rather than imaging myself actually pushing through each motion?”

Yuzuru hums, nods. He seems to be considering this. “Do you see yourself?”

“What do you mean?”

Yuzuru blushes, a little. “There’s this study in sport psychology about imagery and how athletes use it. It’s interesting, it’s. One of the questions they ask is whether the athlete sees themselves when they imagine themselves, or if they see what they would see in that situation, kind of?”

“And do you?”

“I see myself, yes. I didn’t always, I used to just kind of try to feel where the motion would go? But since I moved to Toronto, I like to imagine myself, like, for example, doing a jump.”

Yuzuru talks with his hands a lot, motioning, describing, circular motions that match his circular logic, illustrating while he tries to get to the center of his point.

“I just think about how my leg would look and my arms and what position and the angles.”

“And it helps?”

Yuzuru nods, looks at Shoma while Shoma tries to wrap his head around it. He speaks again, when he realizes that Shoma doesn’t quite know what to say.

“It’s like seeing someone do the jump you want to do. It is a lot clearer, for me, to see Javi do a quad sal, than try to imagine the extra rotation of a triple sal.”

“Oh…” Shoma thinks, and realizes something, can’t help but grin, “So would it help to see someone do a quad axel?”

Yuzuru looks at him, for a long beat, and his face transforms into a matching smile. “I want to do that first, though!”

Shoma hums, laughing back at him, a chuckle that sits deep in his chest. “Fingers crossed.”

Yuzuru laughs, shakes his head at Shoma. “You’re one to talk, Mr. First Ratified Quad Flip.”

Shoma shrugs. “I don’t know if it will count, when I attempt it in competition.”

“It will count. I don’t know anyone else who can do _that_.”

Yuzuru’s smile goes soft, a little, just around the edges of his eyes. His hand is right there, between them.

Shoma doesn’t want to accept his compliment, but Yuzuru probably knows more than Shoma does in this regard. He may well be right. Shoma might leave his mark on the figure skating world at last. He probably won’t ever measure up to Yuzuru, who breaks record after record, but he might at least be one of the names associated with him, said in the same breath.

In his pocket, his phone vibrates, a disconcerting noise.

When he pulls it out, Yuzuru’s eyes go wide, a little.

“Sorry, sorry, I have to--”

Yuzuru shapes a “that’s okay” with his mouth, motioning him to take the call, so Shoma doesn’t even have to finish his sentence.

It’s Mihoko. She asks him a half dozen questions about the show, about practice the next morning, about his travel arrangements for the next week, about his week off, and then:

“Where are you?”

When Shoma doesn’t hum and yes, Yuzuru goes very still next to him, looking down on his own phone. It’s impossible for him to hear what Mihoko is saying, but maybe. Maybe.

And does it even matter, to him, whether Shoma tells her that they are hanging out or not?

“I’m…” Shoma hesitates, looks at Yuzuru. He doesn’t want to lie to her, and she had said that it was okay. Friends was okay. They aren’t doing anything that Shoma wouldn’t do with Keiji, or other skating friends. “I’m with Yuzuru.”

There’s a beat in which Yuzuru looks up at the mention of his name, and smiles at Shoma, small and honest, and Shoma smiles back. Maybe it did matter. Shoma can feel his smile soften, a little, at that.

Mihoko sighs. “Be careful. And remember what I said, okay?”

Shoma groans, pressing a hand to his eyes to hide his face.

Mihoko laughs a little and hangs up on him. They will probably speak about this before practice tomorrow. Shoma sighs. He isn’t looking forward to that conversation.

“What’s wrong?”

Shoma lets his hand slide down his face so he can look at Yuzuru. He looks concerned, a little, but mostly amused at Shoma’s antics. Why are all of Shoma’s friends entertained by his desperation or humiliation? Shoma considers this, and then quickly discards the thought. He doesn’t like what that says about him.

Instead, he shrugs. “Mihoko isn’t too certain about this.” He gestures between them.

Yuzuru’s face falls. Shoma hurries to explain, hand reaching out but never quite touching.

“She’s okay with it! It’s not that. She just.. worries about me.”

Yuzuru nods, like he understands, but it seems to weigh on him. “Because you didn’t have anyone except for her to talk about it all ever since we found out and I didn’t--”

He breaks off, pauses to draw in what looks like a painful breath. When he looks at Shoma, his eyes are sad and serious and absolutely honest. “I am very sorry about that. I didn’t thinks it would--”

Shoma shrugs again. “I told you it doesn’t matter anymore.” He smiles, and it feels right, when Yuzuru is sitting there, opposite him, to touch a hand to his shoulder to knock him off balance a little, just to make him loose the unhappy expression on his face. “And we’re friends now. So it’s ok.”

Yuzuru doesn’t seem satisfied with that, but he nods. He also touches the spot on his shoulder Shoma just put his hand to, as if to prolong the feeling of his touch there.

Shoma knows they have to talk about this again, but for now, they seem to have settled the issue somewhat.

Yuzuru falls back, and lies there next to Shoma, thinking. Shoma should really get up and go to his own room, but he’s comfortable. He shifts to sit cross-legged, and his knee knocks against Yuzuru’s hip. He doesn’t pull away. The silence between them is too comfortable to disturb any more. Yuzuru looks up at him, and it’s a little strange, seeing him this loose, almost entirely relaxed. It feels, strangely, like a privilege, because Yuzuru is always tense, excited, smiling, hamming it up. He doesn’t seem like someone to allow himself a lot of calm relaxed moments, and Shoma is happy that he does right then.  

“Hey.” Yuzuru starts, into the silence. Shoma braces himself for the peacefulness to be gone. “Why don’t I have your phone number?”

It isn’t what Shoma expected at all, so he laughs, a little, under his breath, knocks his knee against Yuzuru’s hip just a little, barely shifting but enough to make himself felt.

“We weren’t talking, so it wasn’t necessary. I’d like you to, though, if you want.”

Yuzuru nods, but lying down that just means that his hair flips back from his forehead. He looks a little silly without his fringe in his face, a little younger. Yuzu shifts to lie on his side, and pulls his phone out from under his hip, where it must have slid when Yuzuru had put it down. His t-shirt rides up a little at the motion, and Shoma looks away quickly. Shoma pulls his own phone back out of his pocket, and opens a new contact.

“Here.”

Yuzuru looks up at him again, from where he’d been looking at his phone with concentration.

“It’s easier if you put your number into my phone and I call you, because I can never remember my own number.”

Yuzuru laughs at that, a little. He reaches up to take Shoma’s phone out of his hand. His touch is warm, a soft caress that might have been unnecessary but Shoma isn’t going to complain. He doesn’t pull away, just smiles at Yuzu.

Moments later, Yuzuru’s phone rings, and he nods, satisfied. He holds Shoma’s phone up for Shoma to grab out of his hand, and Shoma does, taking care to touch just as much as Yuzuru did, like that counts as revenge.

Or maybe he just wants to. That’s fine.

Yuzuru smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners, and seconds after that, Shoma’s phone buzzes with a message.

Right there, blinking back at him, he finds a bear, a skate, and a snowflake.

***

It’s like Shoma reaching out to touch opened the flood gates, because the next day, Yuzuru just reaches out to touch him all the time, like he has to make up for all the times during the past weeks when he wanted to grasp Shoma’s wrist or shoulder, wanted to put an arm around him, or pull him along.

First there is breakfast, which Shoma spends pouring over training plans and schedules with Mihoko, when Yuzuru comes up behind him, his own team and Javi in tow. He just said good morning, but his hand lingered on Shoma’s shoulder in a way that made Mihoko’s eyebrows rise.

She doesn’t say much, just looks at Shoma like she’s waiting for a confession.

If Shoma has any input, she’ll be waiting for a long time. There’s nothing to confess. Friends are allowed to touch, Shoma touches his other friends. There are pictures of Shoma in Keiji’s lap that Mihoko hasn’t once raised an eyebrow about.

The doctor calls with Shoma’s results. There isn’t anything to be found, no traces remain, nothing that would look like an attempt at doping, so it wasn’t sabotage. Just someone preying on naïve club goers.

Strangely, that thought makes Shoma shudder more than the ides of sabotage. Sports are a tense, competitive environment that he can understand. The alternative, a random and malicious crime, is so much more difficult to parse.

Mihoko reaches out to him as if she can read his thoughts, but Shoma shakes her off, and goes to change, goes to get ready for practice.

Nothing happened, to him.

He’s fine.

***

At practice, Yuzuru’s touches get less openly declarative. Yuzuru doesn’t put himself out there as much, as if chastised by Mihoko’s frown. Shoma hates the implication, that this is not something for him to choose or reject, or that she doesn’t trust Shoma to say no to Yuzuru, or that he can’t and she has to warn him off Shoma for Shoma’s sake.

When Yuzuru reaches out to pull Shoma up from where he’s lying on the ice after a failed flip, he makes sure to let his hand linger in Yuzuru’s, skating along him a little longer than necessary.

They’re fine.

Yuzuru’s eyes are fixed on where his gloves and Shoma’s mesh until the line between their hands becomes almost invisible.

“Are you hurt?”

They are both intense in practice, always have been. Shoma remembers being covered in bruises that were his and those that weren’t, before either of them had learned how to fall in a way that wouldn’t exacerbate hurts and twinges. It took Shoma a lot longer to learn than Yuzuru, or maybe Shoma just bruises more easily. He won’t be able to find that out, probably, so it is a useless train of thought to follow.

They are intense here, too, except for the short minutes of extra time they can gather that leave them alone on the ice. Now that Mihoko is back, Shoma needs to catch up on the time he lost training without her guidance, and Yuzuru matches his intensity and focus. They still watch, Shoma still takes in the way Yuzuru moves into his jumps, the ease of Yuzuru’s jump technique and tries to replicate in a way that works with his body and his pre-existing muscle memory, but they aren’t as free as they could be. The past playfulness of their interaction during practice is gone, if it was ever there at all.

Shoma tilts his head at Yuzuru, who is still staring at their hands. He isn’t letting go, either, so Shoma figures it’s okay. He shakes his head, and it just. He’s too comfortable, for just a split second, almost forgets who he is talking to.

“No, I’m fine. It won’t even bruise.”

Yuzuru freezes, like the word bruise is a magic trick. Shoma can’t breathe, too caught up in regret at mentioning it so he just stands there, equally frozen, waiting for Yuzuru to react.

“Oh,” Yuzuru breathes out, gently. He lets go of Shoma’s hand, but turns to him. Shoma lets him draw away, too nervous all of the sudden to look up.

He shouldn’t have brought it up. They don’t talk about this, it’s not part of their relationship. Regret weighs heavy in Shoma’s stomach, binding around his chest in a way that makes it hard to catch a breath.

“Oh,” say Yuzuru again, and Shoma finally does look up. Yuzuru smiles at him, a pale imitation of all the different ways his smile can look that Shoma has learned over the past few days of them hanging out.

But Yuzuru is trying, and Shoma can humor him. The reverse has happened so often, he can’t even begrudge him this.

When their eyes meet, and Yuzuru doesn’t look as uncomfortable as expected, Shoma can feel his face relax into an expression that must look a lot less terrified. Yuzuru’s smile grows into a grin.

“I guess I’ll see on myself.”

He skates off before Shoma can say anything, frantic energy back, skates right into his next jump in one fluid, easy motion that looks effortless. Shoma feels fine, panic and regret receding, since he’s too busy parsing this new comment. Then Shoma, too, goes back to work.

***

He doesn’t mean to lose focus, but he does, on the last jumping pass of his program. His ankle slides away from him on a too-tight landing, and his knee twinges and Shoma goes down, knee and ankle hitting the ice hard with his body coming down on them. His hip hits the ice next, a bright burning point of pain that takes his breath away.

He gets up before he starts breathing again, turns back into his routine, posture up, weight shifting off the leg that got under him as much as he can without it being noticeable. Every time he shifts his weight onto that leg, there is a bright spot of an ache there, like a pulled muscle, maybe. Not a sprain, Shoma hopes. Not a sprain, he can’t afford a sprain.

He gets through the rest of his program alright, too focused on not making anything worse to focus on all the mistakes he probably makes.

When he gets off, there is already a medical staff member waiting. It’s not a sprain. It’s going to bruise, is already turning the blood-red and dark purple of a bruise that will stain for a while, but the sharp ache is already receding, now that Shoma isn’t pulling on the muscles. He takes the cooling pad to the changing room and sits, spreading his leg out on one of the benches toward the corner and adding the ice bag on his ankle, his knee, pressing a third to the superficial bruise on his hip. It’s the only one he can’t take stock of until he changes, and he doesn’t want to skate the finale with moist spots on his costume.

He gets approximately seven minutes of rest before the first person comes to check on him.

It’s Stéphane, Jeff in tow, who looks at him with a frown, and then comes to shift the cooling pads until he finds their position satisfactory. Shoma doesn’t say anything, just smiles at him, and Stéphane just lays a brotherly hand on Shoma’s shoulder and heads off again.

Jeff follows him, but not before looking at Shoma with a thoughtful expression.

Shoma sighs, lays his head back against the wall behind it though it puts a little bit of a crick in his neck. He shifts his leg, but the ice is working to keep the muscle strain in check, and the bruises aren’t swelling, so it’s probably not half as bad as it looks.

Shoma has had some shitty looking bruises in his life, with some shitty memories attached. This is the least of them.

Yuzuru knocks on the door before entering, just a little before Shoma has to stand up and start getting dressed for the finale.

“Are you even ok to skate?”

He isn’t changed yet, still wearing his program costume, sweat glistening on his forehead but not dripping down yet. He is building enough stamina to not end his programs absolutely exhausted, reduced to gasps and salt water. Shoma is a little proud. Stamina has never been his problem, but then he doesn’t have asthma.

Shoma pulls the cooling pads off his leg and moves it, testing. The fabric of his trousers sticks uncomfortably against his skin, and he is looking forward to changing for once. He gives Yuzuru a thumb up.

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“It looks painful.”

There’s a twinge in his knee Shoma doesn’t like but that is familiar enough for him to know that it will be gone tomorrow. The shock from the fall was worse than its actual consequences, probably. His hip smarts a little, and his ankle will need a little rest and elevation, but he’s fine.

“It hurts a little, but it will be fine.”

Shoma doesn’t realize the significance of Yuzuru’s words until he’s answered, and he can’t. Why. There is no chance that Yuzuru saw Shoma while he was being examined, so he must have.

He must have seen Shoma’s bruises appear while skating, but they are ignoring that. They aren’t using that, their friendship is separate.

Shoma shakes his head. “Bruises are superficial. I can skate.”

Yuzuru opens his mouth like he wants to argue, like he wants to push Shoma back onto the bench and force more cooling pads on him, but he doesn’t. He closes his mouth, jaw set. His eyes, when Shoma finally meets them are dark in a way Shoma can’t decipher.

“Ok,” Yuzuru nods. “It’s your choice. You know best.”

He doesn’t look happy, but Shoma nods back at him. It’s not a part of their friendship. They both just slipped up, it’s fine.

Their bruises are shared, and real, but they aren’t defining. They aren’t important. Shoma can ignore them, if Yuzuru can.

Shoma gives Yuzu a small smile, and Yuzuru answers it. His eyes look worried, but his mouth says alright. Alright.

Shoma survives the final his ankle and knee barely hurting, but he crumbles under his jump in his spotlight. It’s not his physical state, but the previous fall that haunts him, makes him inconsistent. The fear of falling makes him fall, he knows this. This usually doesn’t happen because Shoma knows this, and knows it’s stupid. He still wants to land it.

He waits, patiently, for the quad battle, another chance to prove, to the audience and to himself, that he can do this. One bad fall and one dumb fall and he wants to do better. He wants to show that he can do this, even if for now he’s inconsistent.

Before Shoma can go and catch up to Javi, who is pushing Mao to jump her triple axel, there’s a hand on his wrist, warm and firm and holding him. Not holding him back, not really, Shoma could break out of this hold, but holding on, like a solid reminder.

When Shoma looks back, Yuzuru grins at him.

“You want to jump?”

Shoma nods. Yuzuru grimaces, like it’s his body that hurts, rather than Shoma’s.

“That’s unlike you.”

Shoma doesn’t want to discuss this, doesn’t want to be held back, but Yuzuru doesn’t let go. He slides his hand down, until they are palm to palm, fingers slipping against each other to grip tightly before Shoma can really tell what he’s doing.

Yuzuru’s other hand comes up to his shoulder, pressing hard against where Shoma can feel himself tensing in preparation for his jump, tensing with nerves in a way he is trying to train himself out of. He just wants to leave this show with one last, solid, jump.

Yuzuru must read something in Shoma’s expression, in his eyes, because his hand tightens on Shoma’s shoulder, grips his hand a little tighter.

“Be careful, then.”

Shoma follows the last skater out, sees them land solid and strong and thinks “yes, me, too.”

He sets up, takes on speed, knee smarting just a little in reminder, but Shoma pushes that back. He can feel himself sinking into the motion quickly, muscle memory taking over. He knows what to do, but he doesn’t see himself. He wants to see himself do this, imagines, in the split moment before he takes off, the position he’ll take in the air, on take-off, rotating fast and clean, and the landing, a clear and deep edge in the ice that he could easily follow with his fingers after.

And it happens. It’s not like Yuzuru talked about: he can’t see himself while he jumps, only feels his body, but the knowledge that he’s done this, he’s seen footage of himself do this, he can do this.

It helps.

He lands, arms wide and smile wider, and skates back to the group of skaters who are cheering, waving at the audience who is cheering. There is a lot of shoulder clapping, some friendly cat calls, and a quickly familiar hand ruffling his hair only to land at the back of his neck, squeezing there in a way that is half congratulatory and half comforting.

Yuzuru’s smile is bright, warm, and his eyes shine.

“Now you have to go, as well!” Shoma finds himself laughing, pushing Yuzuru to the side of the group as if Yuzu was ever hesitant to be part of a quad battle. “Go, Yuzu!”

The familiar nickname leaves Shoma’s mouth before he can realize that he’s never. He’s never called Yuzuru that. Yuzu seems to realize the same moment, because his smile grows large and incandescent, eyes crescents in his face, and he laughs, head thrown back.

“Alright. I’ll amaze you, Shoma.”

And he does, because he always does, even when it isn’t what Shoma wants, Yuzuru amazes him. Even when it used to hurt, Shoma couldn’t not watch him perform, watch him take big, bold strokes into that familiar, effortless triple axel.

Here, now, he adds another, then another, then another, and the next one pops and turns into a single that spends an incredible amount of time in the air.

Yuzuru comes back to him, after accepting the same back clapping and cat-calls and cheering that Shoma had gotten, finds Shoma in the back of the group and reaches out, to slowly, slowly wrap his hand around Shoma’s and it doesn’t hurt at all.

They take their bows like that.

***

Everybody leaves the next morning, so there is a big commotion after the show of everybody hugging and saying goodbye or making breakfast plans, readying themselves for a while of not seeing each other, though some of them will reconvene in just a couple of weeks, it won’t be the cast as it has been for the past shows.

Shoma tries to evade the group. He’s not good at good byes, never has been. He’d rather phase out of a social interaction and be rude than endure plans to call or text or talk that are merely platitudes, or be hugged and kisses even though he’d rather shake a hand.

Kanako catches him and pulls him over to Mao before he can escape.

“Tell Mao goodbye,” she commands, and pushes him at Mao, who welcomes Shoma into a short squeeze of a hug before she lets him go. He can feel his face go red with embarrassment at being caught sneaking away by Mao.

Kanako alone would have been fine, but she’s cackling, deriving way too much pleasure from seeing Shoma stammer out a polite see you soon.

They let him go quickly after, and Shoma feels a little sorry for not being able to be more heart-felt in his goodbye to Mao. He doesn’t know when he will see her again.

He manages to evade Johnny, Javi, some of the younger, local Japanese skaters who were invited who have somehow managed to get involved, then Stéphane.

Jeff just waves, doesn’t try to talk.

He sees, out of the corner of his eye, how Yuzuru makes his way across the crowd, stopping every now and then to hug someone, smiling and nodding and so, so friendly. It seems like he’s planning to hug every single person good bye, if he knows them or not.

Shoma doesn’t know how he does it. He turns, and runs before someone can stop him.

***

There is a knock on his hotel room late the next morning. Shoma is packed and ready, his flight leaving in a few hours but he’s always been a nervous traveler. He’s thinking about breakfast, maybe.

Mihoko just checks in to make sure Shoma has his passport, his skates, his visa documents, and is aware of how to check out. She’s leaving before him, her flight earlier than his and from a smaller, domestic airport.

“Call me any time, Shoma.” She smiles as she says it, like she knows that he won’t, not unless he has really, really screwed up. She means it, though.

Shoma just hugs her, instead. He’s missed her, this off-season. Usually, this is when they spend the most time, but with the show and Mihoko’s other commitments, they haven’t seen all that much of each other. Shoma is almost looking forward to the start of the season, when she’ll travel with him again.

Mihoko hugs him back, like she does rink-side, when he comes off the ice, clutching.

“Thank you,” he whispers back. That’s not good bye, after all.

Once she’s gone, Shoma collects his suitcases, and thinks about breakfast some more. He has some time before he has to take a car to the airport, he can—

His phone vibrates in his pocket, three times in short intervals.

Yuzuru has sent him a croissant, a bowl of rice, and then, last, a single word.

“Breakfast?”

Shoma smiles, writes back “Y, where?”

They meet down at the hotel restaurant minutes later, both in comfy flight wear.

“I noticed you sneaking away yesterday,” Yuzuru grins.

Shoma shrugs, smiles impishly. “I don’t like goodbyes.”

For some reason, that makes Yuzuru’s face fall. He manages to smile over it, though, so fast that Shoma almost doubts having seen his expression change.

“You were very sneaky.”

Shoma laughs, maybe a little too much for such a lame attempt at a joke, but.

“We don’t have to say goodbye, if you don’t want?” Yuzuru offers, once Shoma calms down.

Shoma hums, takes a bite of his beef. Yuzuru shakes his head.

“Are you sure you don’t want a strawberry?”

“No, thanks.”

“Maybe a vegetable?”

Shoma holds up a piece of onion that was stuck to his beef. “Here: Vegetable.”

Yuzuru laughs, but gives up and shrugs, takes a bite of fruit, then some oatmeal.

“I just…” Shoma starts, and thinks, again. “I don’t like to make a production of it, you know? Of saying good bye? It always turns into this... performance.”

“It is, though?” Yuzuru answers. “Most social interaction is that.”

Shoma shrugs. “That’s why I’m bad at it, I guess.”

Yuzuru looks up, gaze piercing, and Shoma feels, for an awkwardly long moment, almost naked.

“You’re doing okay.”

“You noticed me sneaking out of a giant goodbye fest, Yuzu,” Shoma chuckles, and Yuzuru joins him, eyes crinkling.

“That’s true…” he stops, turning serious, “but that doesn’t mean you’re…”

Shoma stops him before he can hurt himself trying to make Shoma feel okay.

“No, it’s fine. I just. I prefer not to pretend.”

Yuzuru nods at that, firmly. “Me, too. I just think it’s necessary sometimes.”

It makes Shoma stop, consider, then, ask, even though he doesn’t want to hear a lie.

“Are you pretending now?”

Yuzuru looks up so fast, the strawberry on his spoon falls off. Shoma takes a bit of rice onto his chopsticks and puts it into his mouth.

Yuzuru just stares at him for a long moment, before he just shakes his head. “No. I don’t have to.”

And then, as if to reaffirm this, even though Shoma wants to believe him already.

“I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Ok.”

“So...” Yuzuru starts, after an awkward moment of silence in which they both put as much food as possible into their mouths for the excuse that provides, “do you? Ever pretend?”

Shoma looks at him, holds his gaze, and wishes, wishes very hard, for Yuzuru to not misunderstand him. Yuzuru’s face is impassive, a superficial mask that he puts on but that Shoma has already learnt to see through.

“I tried, once. But I couldn’t do it.”

Yuzuru’s mouth twitches. “So you aren’t performing now?”

Shoma shakes his head.

They talk about the short break then, their plans, Shoma’s short trip to the US, Yuzuru’s decision to remain in Japan for the time being, instead of returning to Toronto to train. He looks pensive, as they talk, as if concerned with something else, and indeed, he returns to what’s bothering him. It’s nice that Yuzuru is reliable like that, can be trusted to be direct when he’s curious or concerned.

“If you don’t like performing, how do you skate?”

Shoma frowns. “What do you mean? I’m not lying to anyone when I’m skating, everybody knows that I’m performing then.”

Yuzuru tilts his head. “And if you say goodbye to someone, and you hug them, that’s?”

Shoma can’t help but grin. “I think the difference is that you really, really don’t mind hugging strangers, and I really, really do.”

Yuzuru grins back at him. “Then I can assume that whoever I see hugging you is a close friend.”

Shoma considers this for a long moment, but decides to nod.

Yuzuru grins, wide and dangerous and oh.

Oh.

Is he thinking about what Shoma is thinking about, about the club just a few days ago, that seems forever ago already. Oh no.

“With exceptions!!” Shoma hurries to add, but Yuzuru just laughs and shakes his head.

***

They spend so long talking over breakfast that Shoma has to hurry to get his suitcases and check out. Yuzuru grins at him when he hands this keycard back, the kind of sneaky smile that he doesn’t often show to the public but that Shoma has grown to adore on him.

He helps Shoma push his suitcases out, and then helps him load them into a car. There is three, and they are heavy, but they manage.

There is an awkward moment, before Shoma really needs to get going, that they just stand there, in front of each other.

Yuzuru is smiling. “I’ll see you soon,” which isn’t a goodbye, because Yuzuru listened, and he.

He is trying very hard to keep this from becoming a performance, with set steps and a choreography to follow. This feels genuine.

His smile in inviting, and Shoma realizes, with a sudden pang, that he won’t see that smile for two weeks. He won’t be able to just text him and meet up, won’t see him almost every day at practice.

It’s surprisingly easy to take that extra step forward and slide his arms under Yuzuru’s to wrap them around his waist. Yuzuru makes a punched out little noise, surprise, maybe something else that would be easier to tell if Shoma were looking at Yuzuru’s face, instead of blinking against the softness of his sweater.

“I thought we weren’t doing this,” Yuzu says, as his arms come around Shoma’s shoulder and hold on tightly.

Shoma shakes his head. “We aren’t. This isn’t happening.”

Yuzuru lets him go when Shoma steps back and unwraps his arms, hands sliding down his back before falling to his sides. He looks curious, but he doesn’t argue, just nods.

“Ok,” he smiles.

“Ok,” Shoma replies and gets in the car.

He sees Yuzuru pull his phone out of his pocket, and a second later, Shoma’s phone pings.

“Let’s just keep talking here, now that you’re on your way, ok?”

And then, seconds after, another:

“If we just keep chatting you won’t ever have to say goodbye.”

He follows that up with a sun that’s smiling.

Shoma can see Yuzuru getting smaller in the side mirror, slowly disappearing, but that doesn’t hurt, because his phone pings with another message.

“Have you already left????” Kanako writes, with at least five angry-looking emojis attached, and then Shoma is too busy replying to both of them to feel strange, or to even look out of the window of the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do u feel soft and melty yet, bc I do.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Full circle.

Jetlag hits him hard. Shoma doesn’t know what it is about his circadian rhythm that refuses to budge even the tiniest bit to other time zones. When he first started travelling for senior competitions, Mao had proposed he train for the change in time zones, but she is much more disciplined than Shoma will ever be.

He just falls into bed as soon as he arrives in Chicago and doesn’t wake up for twelve hours, when his host knocks on his door to rouse him for his first practice session. Shoma feels bleary, but a shower clears his head.

There’s a few messages blinking on his phone that want to be replied to, which Shoma does, before he heads out for breakfast.

The training facilities are nice, and there are quite a lot of kids playing, training. Shoma joins their morning drills, so the trainer can figure out what he will be focusing on.

Turns out that Shoma has underestimated American practices, or overestimated his own physical prowess.

“I can’t lift my legs,” he texts Yuzuru in reply to Yuzu’s “How did training go!?”

Yuzuru sends back a laughing emoji with crinkly eyes that bears a surprising likeness to his own laughter. Shoma sends back the laughing poop, because he can.

They text a lot, now that they have exchanged numbers. Yuzuru is keeping his word: they don’t say goodbye, just dropping out of the conversation when they get busy, which is a lot, returning to it like the break never happened when they can.

It’s nice, Shoma likes the easy cadence of it, the way Yuzu isn’t worried about texting too much, or bothered by Shoma’s awkwardly long typing periods because he writes and rewrites his texts rather a lot, until he realizes that Yuzuru doesn’t care if there is a typo, and will understand what Shoma means even if he does end up using the wrong word.

“It’s too easy,” he tells Kanako, when she calls to rib him about not saying goodbye on his first evening in the US. “It’s like he just gets it.”

She laughs. “I mean...”

“I’m a bit scared that we won’t be able to talk to each other when we’re face to face again?”

“That won’t happen. It anything, it’ll be easier, because you’ll know each other better. And you haven’t stopped talking, so it won’t feel awkward to think of what to talk about!”

Shoma hums, unconvinced.

Kanako laughs, a tinny sound through the loudspeakers of Shoma’s phone. “Don’t worry, Shoma!”

***

After a few days, his routine looks like this: he wakes up, has breakfast, is tortured for a few hours until small American girls laugh because Shoma’s knees are buckling, he goes to have a nap, ice time, more food, then sleep. He sends his family pictures on the group chat when his mum bothers him, and he sends the same pictures to Kanako. He chats with Yuzuru before he falls asleep, usually. Since he falls asleep twice a day, he talks to Yuzuru a lot.

It doesn’t get boring. Yuzuru has opinions on everything, and once Shoma gets him going, he composes entire essays all on his own, and Shoma only has to stoke the fire.

It’s an okay routine for five days, when Shoma starts feeling antsy. He isn’t homesick. He’s too busy to be homesick, but he’s tired, and he’s worn out, and while the workouts he is doing are helping, and he feels his jumps are improving, he also wants to sleep in, wants to have time on the ice that isn’t dictated by someone else who directs his every movement.

Keiji facetimes him just in time. He laughs when he sees Shoma’s pained grimace.

“Every muscle in my body is screaming,” Shoma says, just to introduce his situation. “If you laugh at me I will hang up.”

Keiji shrugs. “Okay, no laughing. How is Chicago?”

“Chicago?” Shoma thinks.

Thinks some more.

Keiji is laughing at him, a low chuckle. “You know, the city you are in? One of the big ones? In the United States of America, where you are training?”

Shoma pulls a grimace. “Yeah, it’s not like I’m seeing much of it.”

Keiji laughs. “That’s because all you want to do is skate, train, and play games on your phone.”

Shoma shrugs. “Nothing wrong with that! Besides, I’m talking to my friends, too!”

Keiji grins, small and devilish. “Yeah, I’ve heard.”

Shoma sits up from where he’s lounging on the bed, and a muscle in his side screams louder.

He wants to join it, because the pain is excruciating.

Keiji does end up laughing at him, but Shoma figures that if it was Keiji holding his side and pulling pained faces, he would laugh, too.

Besides, his time will come. Shoma will have the last laugh.

“I feel a bit abandoned, honestly,” Keiji jokes, “you haven’t texted me updates at all, and you’ve been away for three days. Usually I’d have at least seven complaints that I could happily ignore by now.”

Shoma can feel himself blush, and Keiji coos, laughing harder.

“He’s just really interesting,” Shoma mutters. “And he cares about my thoughts, unlike other people…”

Keiji grins, shrugs. “Well, I know all your thoughts, so I don’t have to care.”

“Rude.”

Keiji shrugs, again. They sit like that, comfortable silence, for a while.

“Do you ever…” Keiji starts, and stops. Shoma lets him restructure his thoughts, since Keiji offers Shoma that very same curtesy every time Shoma needs it. “Yuzu is the same age as me.”

Shoma looks up from where his gaze had been wandering, and finds Keiji looking at him kinda intently.

“Do you ever think about that?”

Shoma shrugs. “Not really?”

“I do.”

He shrugs. “I know that everybody matures differently, but I can’t help but think… I don’t know. Like I’ve hit my maximum.”

There is another beat of silence, before Keiji laughs, awkwardly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to drag this conversation down like that.”

Shoma shakes his head. “No. No, it’s fine. I want to… I want to hear about it. Why? Why would you think that?”

“I went to practice yesterday, and I just. I tried so hard, but I can’t get things right. As it is, I’m not entirely consistent, but my technical content just isn’t up to par. Maybe it’s just a plateau, but I’m not... I’m not competitive, and right now, I’m not sure if I’ll ever be.”

Shoma knows that somewhere out there, Coach Yamada is angry and doesn’t know why, but he asks regardless. “Why is that bad?”

Keiji stares at him. “I want to win. I want to win as much as you do, that’s why it’s bad.”

And Shoma sits there, feeling caught out because yes. He understands that, and yet.

“But you do? You win, sometimes? You skate clean, and you have fans who adore you and it’s… Isn’t that winning?”

Keiji looks at him, and Shoma works hard to meet his eyes. He has to. This is his friend, and he shouldn’t doubt like this.

"Don’t you love skating anymore?”

“Sometimes I think I’d love it more if I was getting gold.”

“But nobody wins all the time.”

Keiji shrugs. “Yuzuru does.”

Shoma laughs, too loud and too harried to be taken for real. “No, he doesn’t, and you know that. He may have Olympic gold, but you know he likes to say that he didn’t win that, really, that Patrick lost it. He has not won Worlds since. And he’s had a few _shit_ seasons, and you know that, too. You’ve seen him struggle same as you.”

“He breaks records.”

“Yeah,” Shoma sighs. “And himself, too.”

Keiji makes a shocked noise, like a gasp given voice.

“I know I’m not supposed to--” Shoma stops, swallows, but keeps talking.

He has lived with this for the past year or so, and besides. Yuzuru has granted him a confidante. Maybe Keiji could use being confided it as much as he needs to know that he isn’t the only one who feels like this.

He’s not doing well.

“But I’ve seen his bruises, I used to look at them every day and wonder, and Keiji, he’s been beating himself up for years, worse than we do even when I’d already learned how to fall to minimize harm to myself, and he’s never really healthy. He’s injured all the time.”

Keiji swallows, and he looks so uncomfortable, and Shoma just keeps talking, like he can’t stop himself now that he’s started, the truth and worry just crashing out of him like something broken:

“He does nothing but train, and I know I’m the same, but at least I’m not hurting myself with it... I’m glad you aren’t like that. I’m glad you just love skating for what it is and push yourself to the edge and never over it, because the other side of the edge isn’t pretty and I’ve seen it.”

He swallows, dry. Keiji nods.

He asks, hesitant. “But you’re friends with him anyway.”

Shoma nods, sighs. “Yes. We’re friends now. He’s gotten better, I guess? I’m not black and blue and red all the time, so he’s gotten better over the past years, but...”

Keiji nods, again, and then his face sets in a determined frown.

“Why did this become all about Yuzuru again?”

Shoma laughs. “I don’t know. You started it though.”

Keiji joins him, his soft chuckle a familiar, treasured sound.

“I don’t think you’re done with skating, Keiji,” Shoma says, with a small smile. “You’ve barely started, and you have so much time to become what you want to be.”

Keiji tilts his head. “You just don’t want to skate nationals against Yuzuru without me.”

Shoma can’t hide a snort. “True. Though maybe Mura will step up, or Sota. There are a lot of good people coming up from juniors.”

Keiji sighs, again. “It’s just thoughts, anyway. As long as I have sponsors, and as long as I’m studying, I’ll continue.”

Shoma smiles at him, a little sad. “And because you love it,” he suggests, lightly, “and because competitions mean you get to spend a lot of time with me!”

***

He doesn’t tell Yuzuru about this conversation, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he does. He wants to tell Yuzuru about it, so Yuzuru can take the thoughts that are building up in Shoma’s head apart, deconstruct them into small, manageable parts until Shoma can make sense of them.

So Yuzuru can tell Shoma that it’s okay, what he told Keiji. That telling him wasn’t a betrayal. That wanting to end a season happy is more important than ending a season winning.

But Shoma can’t tell Yuzuru, because all Yuzuru would hear is the bruises, and what they’ve done to Shoma.

He’s not responsible for Shoma, and he shouldn’t be, and if Shoma depended on him, he’d make Yuzuru a bigger part of his life than Yuzuru really should be.

And Shoma had been fine without him for a long time. Yuzuru is his friend, but he has to be a distant sort of friend. Whatever they have been doing, it is too comfortable.

So when Yuzuru’s first message of the night arrives, Shoma swipes it away. It’s a simple “Hey, how did on-ice training go?”

It would be easy to answer, probably easier than it is to ignore it. He’s become accustomed to their little conversations, the way they never say hello or goodbye, the way Yuzuru will start a conversation in the middle, send random photos of his Pooh tissue box in the rink, a video of himself doing a picture-perfect quad sal followed by a video of him landing it on his ass, with a teary-eyed laughing emoji. Now and then, he sends screenshots of Javi and his coach when they facetime him, and Shoma can’t tell why.

A lot of Yuzuru’s behavior makes no sense to Shoma, not really.

Sometimes, Yuzuru sends pictures of his food, because his mum cooked it and he says she insists he show it to Shoma. Shoma doesn’t know whether he wants to believe that, either.

He’s tired.

His phone buzzes again. Yuzuru texts him again, twenty minutes later, and Shoma reaches out, and mutes his phone.

He falls asleep.

The next two days pass in a rush, his final sessions, his goodbye dinner, and he has a good time. After a week, here, he’s grown accustomed to the place, the rink and its people, but there are strange, empty spaces in his day that Shoma hadn’t expected, that he hadn’t noticed he’d been filling with chatter.

He wonders if they were there before he started chatting with Yuzuru all the time, or if they created them.

Then he flies home.

***

“What are you doing?” Keiji asks, when Shoma calls him, a day after he has arrived, a day of gluttony and no practice at all.

“Huh?” Shoma asks, mouth half-full with his dad’s cooking.

Shoma’s mother is hopeless in the kitchen, but his dad makes really good ramen sometimes. It’s store-bought, but he adds extras that make the cup of noodles taste like home.

“Shoma. I have sent you fifteen texts in the past three days and you haven’t replied to a single one.”

If it was an option, Shoma would hang up right now, but Keiji is persistent. That’s probably why they are friends.

Instead, he curls protectively around himself on his parents’ ugly patterned couch, and tries to come up with a way to avoid this conversation.

He can’t find one. Keiji has a way of extorting information out of Shoma with the power of guilt-trips and the persuasion of his general kindness.

“I’m avoiding people,” Shoma gurgles around a mouthful of noodles, hoping that Keiji will misunderstand and let him be.

Keiji does not do him such a favor. “Ugh, gross, Shoma stop talking with your mouth full.” he groans with disgust, but then his focus goes razor sharp, right to what Shoma was trying to distract from. “Who are you avoiding? Wait? I thought? Yuzu again?”

Shoma winces. “Yeah.”

“I thought you were fine?”

They are? Kind of. He doesn’t know if they still are, but they were before he stopped replying to Yuzuru’s messages three days ago.

To be fair, to stop himself from replying to Yuzuru’s messages, Shoma had to disable the app on his phone. He doesn’t have the best impulse control on a good day, and the past few days have not been particularly nice. As much as Shoma likes his family, he doesn’t like living with them particularly; they get rather intense.

“We are?”

He can practically hear Keiji’s frown.

“I just... it got a bit much, ok.”

“Oh,” Keiji breathes out. “Well… at least let him know that you’re ok? If I got worried, he’s probably too.”

Keiji says probably like it means surely. It makes Shoma wonder whether Yuzuru had said something to someone, Javi perhaps, who had talked to Keiji, or if he’d maybe just talked to Keiji directly. If he even had to, or if Shoma is just that transparent.

“Ok.”

***

It takes Shoma another day to re-start the messaging app. He starts with other messages: Kanako, Sota, Mihoko, his brother. None of them were too concerned about Shoma’s sudden radio silence. He tends to drop off for a few days sometimes when things get stressful, and his stay in the US was that, definitely.

Mihoko knew he was busy training, and he had let her know of his return, and he has met up with Coach Machiko for a few training sessions at his home rink, now that he’s back. Both scolded him, a little, but they weren’t worried about him, confident in their American colleagues’ ability to get Shoma to his flight, and in Shoma’s ability to get himself home.

Yuzuru stopped messaging halfway into day two of Shoma’s break from... well, everything. Shoma scrolls back, until the last time he’d written, and then he starts reading. There isn’t as much as he’d feared.

A queasy feeling settles in his stomach, turning heavy instead.

“My sister is annoying me because I spend so much time on my phone.”

“Look, my mum made your favourite.”

“How did training go?”

“Are you busy?”

“Hey, is everything alright?”

“I read this paper for uni, about how robots might be able to do quints. Thinking about getting knee and hip transplants like Plushenko if that’s true.”

“If you don’t want to talk that’s ok, but can you let me know you’re alright?”

“I’m going back to Toronto for a few days to work on the short. Let me know when you’re back?”

Every message seems a little more defeated, the use of emojis trailing off.

“I’m alright,” Shoma writes, “Just got a bit busy. I’m back home now.”

His phone pings, just moments later.

“Ok.”

Then, minutes later. “Did you miss Japan?”

Shoma frowns. Did he?

This wasn’t the first time he’s left the country, Yuzuru must know that. But it was the first time he left on his own, without taking pieces of home with him, in the form of Mihoko. His family usually doesn’t go to competitions with him, but they send gifts for the volunteers, his aunt especially has started to prepare for Shoma’s bigger events, after he mentioned how well everybody took care of him.

He did miss home, especially in the moments in which he couldn’t quite make himself understood. Training had been fine, since it demanded a sharp focus on his body, the moment, so he didn’t think much about anything else. It was everything around that: the food, the people, that he needed to get used to.

“I did. I felt strange.”

Yuzuru sends back a small monkey face, then: “Would you ever leave Japan to train abroad?”

It feels a little like Yuzuru is punishing Shoma with too honest, too tough questions, though this isn’t unlike all the things they talked about before.

Shoma curls up on his childhood bed, pulling his knees closer to his chest, phone caught in the warm space in the middle. Or maybe it’s just that Yuzuru had been thinking about these things while they weren’t talking to each other, and the questions had been collecting in a neat little heap in Yuzuru’s head.

“I don’t know.”

Yuzuru sends back another monkey, this one looks exasperated.

Shoma laughs a little. It’s amazing, how Yuzuru can mimic his own facial expressions with these little pictures. He can see Yuzu’s face in his mind, the curl of his upper lip a question, the provocation in his eyes, but warm rather than derisive.

Like he actually cares, like he’s honestly curious and Shoma’s refusal to answer, to think hard, is making Yuzuru’s life difficult.

“You never think about it?”

Shoma shakes his head.

“I don’t have to. I like where I am, as long as I can be other places sometimes.”

He can practically see Yuzuru’s frown at that, as if Shoma wasn’t challenging himself enough.

“I like training with my coaches, and I like meeting other coaches to work on specific things. I like challenging myself. Does that makes sense?”

Yuzuru sends back a “Yes,” but Shoma can see that he’s still typing.

Already they have fallen back into that comfortable rapport, like they are sitting opposite each other on Yuzuru’s hotel bed, but not quite. Shoma wishes that they were, like it would be easier to have Yuzuru physically there.

He wishes he could actually see Yuzuru’s expression, to judge whether Shoma is saying the right thing, here.

It’s okay, though, they’re scheduled for the same show in a few days.

“What if you start feeling like you aren’t challenging yourself anymore?”

Shoma laughs, typing before he can convince himself not to. “That’s what you are for, no? There is always someone better out there to propose a challenge, in competition!”

It takes a while for Yuzuru to answer to that, and when he does, it isn’t a reply so much as a continuation of his previous question.

“Would you leave Japan if it would mean winning the Olympics?”

They’ve talked about that, before. Goals. And Shoma can see where he’s leading, why he’s asking. Yuzuru did that. He left Japan, and went to Toronto, to be challenged, to learn more, and then he won.

Was it a fair trade? Shoma can’t tell. He doesn’t know what Yuzuru left behind and what he kept.

He can’t say no, either. Shoma wants to win, he wants to be better than he is, and he is willing to do what is necessary.

It boils down to Yuzuru’s previous question, then.

Would Shoma miss home? Would he want to disrupt his life here to achieve a goal like that? What does it mean to win, if winning means that much of a sacrifice, and a sacrifice that may very well be unnecessary?

Shoma just spend a week in a strange country, feeling strange, but not strange enough to go home, and not strange enough to refuse to do it again. After a week, it felt almost normal. Maybe after a year, it would feel like home.

“Does Toronto feel like home to you?”

“No.”

It’s honest, and curt, and Shoma wonders if he could ask Yuzuru if anywhere feels like home, after years abroad. What makes a place home?

Maybe he could make a home somewhere else, but he’s lived here all his life. He’d want to come back. He likes coming back, be that after a competition, or after a week abroad or after a string of shows that take him all over the country.

He can’t take the logic of a decision like that away from Yuzuru, who tries to split his time evenly between two places, but seems to end up between them, in a way. He doesn’t want Yuzuru to feel like he’s made a decision Shoma can’t understand, because he can.

But Shoma is different than Yuzuru: he’s not easy with new people, and while he adapts, he would always feel alone, and if he left, he’d leave all the people he cares about behind: Mihoko and his rink mates, his brother, his dad and his mum, as much as she pressures Shoma, Kanako, Keiij. Mao, even, though she hasn’t lived here in years, since her influence remains in this place.

The tour has made him realize one thing: being alone isn’t good for him. He’s good at being alone, but that doesn’t mean he can leave the people who care about him behind so easily.

His phone buzzes in his hand.

“I guess I just miss being home right now.”

Shoma doesn’t know when they started to share so much with each other, but Yuzuru’s frank admission uncurls something warm in his chest.

“I don’t usually mind spending time in Toronto, but I was so set on being home for two weeks that it feels weird now. Maybe it’s that my mum didn’t come this time.”

Then: “It’s only a week.”

Yuzuru’s mother wasn’t with him while they skated the show. His coaches were only there for short, interrupted spaces of time. Yuzuru hadn’t seemed reliant on them, except maybe Javi.

“You’re coming back soon,” Shoma texts back, “practice for the next show starts in a few days, after all!”

He doesn’t want to write too much, or be too honest, so he leaves it at that. He can’t afford to get too close.

His dad calls Shoma down for dinner, then. Shoma lays his phone on the floor next to his bed, face down.

He has morning practice, too, and off-ice training afterwards, a new program that he’s established with the coach in Chicago, discussed with Mihoko. He can’t talk to Yuzuru so much, right now.

He ends up checking his messages before he goes to sleep, a habit established in only a week that Shoma can’t seem to shake.

“Oh, I guess you’re gone again.”

“Take care of yourself, Shoma.”

It’s not a goodbye. Shoma smiles, a little, catches his reflection in the surface of his phone when it goes dark in his hand.

He presses the button to revive his screen, and types out a message after all. Just one.

“You too, Yuzuru.”

***

The next few days consist of Shoma practicing his new choreographies, something he’d neglected in favor of jump training for the past week. His legs still feel heavy under him, the ache in his muscles still palpable after days. But it feels good, too.

It almost feels better to skate a little bit tired.

“Do you ever feel that?” He sends Yuzuru. “That it’s easier to jump when you feel a little heavy, and your body is tired?”

He is taking a break while Mihoko is sorting out the music, re-tying his skates before he can get back onto the ice. It’s not a distraction to ask.

The long feels better than the short, the intensity of the music, the dramatic flair and the sharp movements easier to express than the light softness he wants to show in his short. Mihoko shakes her head after his third run-through of the short, adjusts the step sequence again, the spin position.

He feels sapped, after, not physically, but emotionally. There is only so much feeling Shoma can extend into his programs before he starts feeling empty, blank.

He changes, not looking at himself at all, turned inwards, and goes home, collapses into his bed, and pulls up a game on his phone. Just like that it’s evening, and something in Shoma feels restless.

He pulls up his messages.  

“I do, but it has to be a specific sort of tired,” Yuzuru replied, and then there is a selfie, Javi pressed against Yuzuru’s back and peeking over his shoulder, both of them grinning big. Yuzuru looks happy.

Their conversation last night must have been one of those midnight moments of doubt, then, for Yuzuru, if he can shine so brightly just hours later.

Shoma draws his blankets over himself. He should shower, probably, but he’s too exhausted still, feels almost raw with it.

In the right-hand corner of the picture, Shoma finds their coach, his face only half on it, pink and mouth half open in a yell.

“Did you get in trouble for taking a selfie?”

Yuzuru replies immediately. “Javi did! I didn’t, because I am very focused and concentrated always. Obviously.”

“Then why are you texting me?” Shoma asks, attaches an emoji that Yuzuru uses a lot, the one with the half-moon eyes and the rolled-out tongue.

“Breaks are allowed and encouraged!”

Shoma falls asleep, wakes up to another message in the middle of the night, phone still in hand.

“I asked Jeff to take a video of the short program!”

It’s just a fifteen second clip, the music loud in the background, something that sounds rock and roll, heavy with beat and a shrill guitar. Yuzuru looks confident. That’s the striking thing about it, is the tilt of his head, of his hips, as he works through the step sequence, the way he throws himself into the music like he’s dancing, like he danced when they were in the club, but with more confidence, almost. Less loose, perhaps, more conscious of the fact that everybody will be looking at him, and enjoying it.

He doesn’t look soft at all, unlike the version of Yuzuru that Shoma has been talking to lately, the version he’s gotten to know. This program is all hard lines and cockiness and it suits him, too, suits him as much as the softness and kindness and silliness do.

“More swagger!” yells a voice Shoma recognizes. Jeff, of course. He works with Yuzuru a lot, Shoma knows this. He has to look up the word, swagger, though, decides that Yuzuru probably doesn’t need more of it when he realizes what it means.

He doesn’t know how to reply to that: it’s a big sign of trust for Yuzuru to just show him a piece of routine like that, without even the warning that Shoma is not to show anyone.

He doesn’t know how to reply to that, because watching Yuzuru throw himself into a skate like that makes something hot and uncomfortable curl low in Shoma’s stomach.

In the low glow of his phone, in the middle of the night, it is easy enough to hide, to curl around that feeling and pretend.

He watches the little snippet again.

Again.

Then he puts his phone away.

***

It’s his brother that points it out to him, two days later, while Shoma is packing. He’s leaving a day early, on the invitation of the organizers, because he’ll skate a few more group numbers this time. He’s glad to have the extra time to learn the new choreo as it is being created. Maybe it will help him.

Maybe he misses the shows, a little, the excitement of it all that he gets from competitions during the season. Plus, it pays okay. It’s one less worry to put on his parents.

Itsuki is hanging out at Shoma’s place because their mother is stressing him again, lounging on Shoma’s bed while Shoma throws clothes into his suitcase. He’s playing games on his phone; they aren’t really talking. For all that they are close, they are also very different. For all that Shoma will miss him, after pretty much spending the past week with him non-stop, Shoma is ready to leave again.

“Whoa, shit, Sho,” Itsuki gets up from where he’s curled up, focused on Shoma’s ankle, where his trousers have ridden up.

It’s turning red as he looks, an angry, bloody color spreading out on the outside of his foot and down.

Usually, Shoma doesn’t catch the bruises at this stage. They are usually blue by the time Shoma becomes aware of them, or black, purple. Sometimes, they just go from green to brown and he never even fully realizes that they were there in the first place. He tries not to look for them unless they’re his own fault, after all, unless it is entirely necessary.

Itsuki reaches out to grab Shoma’s ankle, and Shoma takes a step back, avoiding his flailing hand.

“It’s fine, it’s not mine.”

“You sure you didn’t hit yourself in practice today? You said you fell a few times though?”

Shoma shakes his head, but he has to smile a little. Shoma has been getting bruises that aren’t his since he was a little kid, but Itsuki always asks, always wants to make sure that Shoma isn’t hurt.

“It doesn’t hurt. It’s not mine.”

He waits until his brother leaves to look at it, poke at the borders of it. It doesn’t look good. He doesn’t know what Yuzuru must have done to create this, but it can’t be good.

He wants to grab his phone and send a picture of his discolored skin to Yuzuru, maybe. Ask him what happened.

But it isn’t his place.

For all that they’ve stopped pretending, this is the one part of their friendship where they are. Ignoring this feels like pretending, like by not reacting like he wants to Shoma is lying, almost.

Shoma sits there, his stuff spread all over his small room, on the floor, and tries not to think about what he’s feeling. It’s easier, if he doesn’t think about it.

He doesn’t know what the right way of action is, like he didn’t know what to do with the short glimpses of his life Yuzuru’s pictures and videos provide.

He wants more, or less, or something different, and he can’t--

If it hadn’t been for Itsuki, he might not even have realized. He’s stopped looking at himself while he’s showering, changing, since he’s started talking to Yuzuru. He runs on autopilot a lot, not thinking about what he’s seeing. He isn’t really vain enough that avoiding mirrors is a chore.

It strikes him as odd, right then, that sometimes he doesn’t feel like his skin is his own just because he knows something more about Yuzuru when he looks at it. That by taking account of himself he always, always is inadvertently taking account of this other life.

That this was easier before, somehow, before he knew who he was looking at. Before Yuzuru made the rules, and Shoma decided to follow them.

Because that’s his friend, now, who he sees when he looks at the red turning to blue.

It felt alright to tell Keiji about a childhood of bruises, but it feels like crossing a boundary now, to poke at the edges of that bruise, still spreading across, and wonder: what did he do?

Shoma wants to know if Yuzuru is alright, but he cannot ask, because this is a connection that isn’t part of their friendship.

He doesn’t know how they can talk all the time and yet, it’s a lie, and maybe that’s why they aren’t really soulmates. If Yuzuru wants to be able to lie to him, like Keiji is lying when he says he’s fine after a long time at practice, then he should be able to.

Like Mao used to say she’s fine, after falling on every axel attempt, knees black and elbows ripped up; she was fine. And he believed her, but he knows that if he asks Yuzuru now, if he texts “Are you ok?”

That Yuzuru will tell him he’s fine, and that.

That’s the performance aspect of a friendship that Shoma hates. He wants honesty, he wants to be able to say “No,” and be believed and he wants the same from others. How is he supposed to be there for his friends when they pretend to be what they are not?

He knows the sacrifices this sport takes, but he doesn’t understand, sometimes, why reassurance sounds like pretending. Maybe he is fine. Maybe being soulmates means being willing to make sure that when someone says that, they aren’t lying.

He finishes packing, slowly, methodically, packs enough socks to last him, counts underwear and then chooses a few t-shirts that his fans have sent him to wear around in public, just in case. He gets work out pants and jeans and sneakers and his toothbrush and shampoo and throws them on top of the growing pile.

Bruises aren’t necessary to make sure that somebody is fine. Maybe that’s what Keiji meant, when they first talked about this. People can be happy without a soulmate, because people can make sure the person they care about most is alright, even when they are lying. Maybe there are other ways of telling, once one is close enough.

Then he lays down, and tries to focus on his game.

He finds that he can’t. He sends a message to Keiji, then looks at the collection of funny pictures Sota has amassed in their chat, and finds one of his own to reply with. He feels calmer when Sota replies.

He never replied to Yuzuru’s video, just sent a picture of his dinner, of Itsuki, started a conversation about the game he was playing, then sent a screenshot of that.

Yuzuru texts at the same time as he has every day this week. He must be going from practice to the airport, Shoma thinks. Yuzuru does that a lot, it is probably routine to him.

“Have you finished packing yet?”  

They’ve slipped up before, about this, is the thing.

Shoma fell and Yuzuru looked and knew and came to him. Said: “I’ll see for myself.” Said: “It looks painful.”

They slipped up, but it isn’t a thing to use. Yuzuru believed him when Shoma said he was fine. He let him go.

“Yes,” Shoma replies. “Are you okay?”

Yuzuru doesn’t reply immediately. After a few minutes, Shoma puts his phone away and goes to find something to eat.

When he comes back, there his phone is blinking. “I’m alright, a bit tired. Training was a lot today. We’ll be boarding soon. I’ll text when I land.”

He doesn’t say goodbye, and Shoma smiles a little at that, at Yuzuru’s absolute refusal to use the word, at the way they have been falling in and out of conversations, even when Shoma keeps to himself, pretending like goodbyes don’t exist.

Maybe pretending can be part of their friendship like it is of a skating routine: maybe once you know that there is pretending, and acknowledge it, it stops feeling like a lie. Maybe Yuzuru was right, and everybody pretends all the time, in some way.

Maybe Shoma really doesn’t mind the pretending as much as he dislikes the showiness of it, when it isn’t on the ice. Maybe he can revise, maybe he can get used to the reality of it.

***

He’s still scared that somewhere between the photos and the messages, he’ll have forgotten how to talk.

He gets through a first day of practices that are the core group of skater involved: The cast, a few competitive skaters. Kanako is there, greets him with a hug for the one they missed when they said goodbye.

“I still can’t believe you hugged Yuzuru but not me, Shoma, really.”

He grins, bears the scolding with an impish sort of smile. He can’t believe it, either. It feels like a lifetime ago. It didn’t feel like a conscious decision, then, and it doesn’t feel real two weeks later.

If it weren’t for a chat log bigger than all of his others, maybe he’d think that this new show will feel like a re-set. Instead, it’s easy to get back into the flow of it all: the backstage rhythm is the same as before, even if the venue is smaller and so is the cast.

The choreography is hard, but not harder than anything else he’s learned, and he can adapt a few things, picks it up a little faster. It’s less frustrating, this time.

He runs through his new long, when he has a little bit of ice time to himself, since the other skaters assigned to the same slot are arriving the day after. Then he runs through his short. He repeats that, for as long as he can: first the long, then the short, until his legs feel heavy. Then he does it one more time.

Yuzuru does text him, but it’s hours after he should have landed.

“I’m here, where are you?”

Shoma is already in bed when he sees the message. Something giddy and tense spreads out in his body, so he just holds his phone close and stops staring at the letters. He doesn’t reply, doesn’t know how or what to say. They’ll see each other at practice the next day, anyway.

***

Yuzuru isn’t on the ice yet, when Shoma arrives the next morning. Shoma is early, but Yuzuru is earlier, on a normal day.

The shiver that runs down Shoma’s back when he sees Yuzuru finally step onto the ice, with a careful air about him that speaks of tender aches, isn’t worry so much as it is anger.

Yuzuru spots him, amongst the other skaters in their practice group, and waves, smiles big.

Shoma can’t make himself smile back, just looks at him. His face must be terribly blank, but right now, he doesn’t know how to fashion a smile out of the mess of feelings that are tangling up in his stomach.

There’s a warm kind of joy at seeing him, too, somewhere under the anger and anxiety that wraps cold tangles around the joy.

People say, about a perfect performance, that the skater had become one with the ice. Shoma doubts the accuracy of that statement, because he’s frozen, cold to the core and he cannot move. He couldn’t perform if he tried. If he tried, it would be lackluster, preoccupied.  

Figure skating is a thing of opposites: hot blooded athletes and cold ice, passion and planning, determination and accuracy, and right now, Shoma couldn’t unify them into anything cohesive.

Yuzuru skates up to him, and anyone who hadn’t seen the bruise wouldn’t notice. Maybe Javi could, knowing Yuzu as he does. Maybe Brian Orser would spot it, too, though that seems less likely because Yuzuru is very good at covering up any trace of pain in his expression.

He lied, and he’s lying right now, to everyone watching, because he’s in pain and he’s pushing through it like it’s nothing. Shoma can tell, by the way Yuzuru’s strokes don’t quite end right, the tense line from the corner of his mouth to the corner of his eye that pulls tight ever so slightly, every time he sets his foot wrong.

Yuzuru is skating up to him, and Shoma can’t look at him right now, knowing this. He couldn’t react how he has to, if they are to remain friends. Shoma turns, and Mihoko catches his eye. She’ll keep Yuzuru away, if he asked, but he doesn’t want her to. He wants to keep him, just not right now.

Instead, he nods when she lifts four fingers, their usual sign, and sets off for his first jump. His quad toe attempt lands fine. He goes into another, pushes himself into the flip, then the toe again, and ends up repeating them over and over again, with a fierce determination. He can’t do what needs to be done for a good performance, but he can do this: half of the deal, half of what’s necessary.

He does it until his knees are shaking and he falls, hard. He gets up, and throws himself into the next round of jumps, one after the other, after the other, until he can’t feel his ankles, or his toes, or his wrists.

The other skaters are a blur around him, his focus is narrowed to only the next movement, and he’s in that zone that is the most comfortable place to be.

His hands are shaking.

He skates it off, moving toward the center of the ice to get out of everybody else’s way, and looks down at them. He’s wearing gloves, but he can see the shaking through him.

Yuzuru is still a blur of black against the white of the ice in front of him, but his face is a warm color, the only warm thing in this rink, perhaps.

He’s in front of Shoma, having caught up now that Shoma has stopped. He’s approaching slowly, as if he was scared to startle Shoma, and Shoma can feel something bubble up in his throat, something hoarse and painful and entirely unprompted.

Why does Yuzuru keep doing this, when Shoma is trying so hard to stay in the boundaries of what they can be.

“Are you okay?”

Shoma doesn’t answer. He can see Yuzuru reach out, slender arm made more slender by the blurring. His hands are naked, pinked up like his face by exertion, and he is barely touching Shoma’s. There is a hole in the thumb of Shoma’s glove, where Shoma sets his teeth to pull them off after practice, and they are kind of disgusting and gross and he shouldn’t want Yuzuru touching them at all but Yuzuru does touch, less the glove and more Shoma’s skin where it shows through the broken fabric of the glove.

It’s seconds that might be minutes because Shoma’s heart beats faster than it ever has, and if he slowed it down time would stretch.

He wants time to stretch.

There is a small bruise on the back of Yuzuru’s hand. Shoma can see it now, his vision clearing up, and he brings up his own hand to wipe at his face, his nose, catch the sweat that has been collecting there.

His other hand is in Yuzu’s, who is curling naked fingers into Shoma’s palm, and slowly peels the glove down.

“I think you bruised your knuckles when you fell,” Yuzuru says, and Shoma stiffens, moves to pull away.

Yuzuru lets him, but the movement pulls Shoma’s glove off completely, and Yuzuru just stands there, looking confused, and overwhelmed, with that moist glove tangling off his fingers, and Shoma meets his eyes and finds a question there, too, so he just says it.

It's been building up, more frustrating than his elusive triple axel, than difficult math, than the final boss fight in a video game, and he couldn’t out-jump it though he tried, and Yuzuru isn’t playing by the rules, either.

“You shouldn’t do that,” he pulls away, further, snatches the glove from Yuzuru’s hand to pull it back over the telling bruises on his own hand. “You’re going to give us away.”

Yuzuru tilts his head, but doesn’t push, so Shoma keeps talking, in a rush, now that he is letting himself address this.  

“You don’t want them to find out, after all, so we can’t risk showing bruises like this.”

Yuzuru’s hand falls away where it had been hovering mid-reach, and his jaw sets. He nods, slowly, like he is considering this for the first time. He lets Shoma go, though, and Shoma takes it as permission to skate off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuzuru's side of things is basically just Florence and the Machine's "Hiding" turned up to the loudest possible volume.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> title of the google doc: "If you thought they were gonna talk about shit now you were wrong" 
> 
> ...let's just say that I was a bit too hurried in titling that doc, but at least @verit enjoyed the snark?

 

Yuzuru isn’t one to let things slide. Shoma has learned this, over the past months, the particular set in Yuzuru’s shoulders that is half frustration and half persistence. It’s like they are competing against each other, pushing harder as if to forget, covered in sweat.

Mihoko watches him with careful eyes from the boards, but she doesn’t reprimand, not even when Shoma comes for a sip of water, when the possibility for a sharp whisper arises. She just looks at him, and Shoma can feel heat creeping into his cheeks. He can’t tell what she must think right now, after that moment on the ice, and their behavior since.

Yuzuru goes down hard, again. He pushes himself up only to bend over and hit the ice in frustration, a harsh noise tearing out of his throat.

Mihoko’s eyebrow raises, a smile uncurling in the corner of her mouth as she squints past Shoma’s shoulder.

“Impatient, that one, always pushing too hard.”

Shoma shrugs, and she points that same smile at him.

“You’re not any better today, Shoma. No more jumps for you, and unlike him, you will listen to your coach.”

It’s a reprimand without scorn, a gentle reminder of why they work so well together. She sends him off into his step sequence with a pat on his shoulder and Shoma forces himself through it, again and again, until his practice is over and Mihoko waves him off. He exits the ice on shaking legs.

He doesn’t change out of his sweaty clothes, preferring to shower in his hotel room instead. He’s also sure that there are bruises developing on his body and he doesn’t want to show them, or go to the effort to change in a way that will hide them. Shoma is too exhausted to deal with that.

He’s out of the changing room and in a shuttle before Yuzuru has left the ice. If Shoma is leaving uncharacteristically early, nobody comments on it, not even Mihoko, who tells him to cool his ankles for a little bit, elevate them so he’ll be fine to train full-power tomorrow.

***

Autopilot.

The water is a wall around Shoma, fogging up the cubicle and making it hard to breathe or see. He leans his head back and lets the water beat down on his head, pushing his curls against his forehead. Maybe if he stands there long enough, the water can beat Shoma’s thoughts out of his head and he’ll be able to rest.

It doesn’t work, so Shoma focuses on washing his hair and body without opening his eyes. He stands under the spray, letting it rinse the lather off him until long after his fingers have pruned up. The mirror is steamed over when he finally gets out of the shower, so all Shoma can see of himself is a rough skin-colored shape of indeterminate size; no details.

He’s in pajama pants and an old and holey t-shirt, when his phone buzzes.

“Are you in your room?” Yuzuru inquires. No emojis.

Shoma debates not replying, but Yuzuru has strange superpowers when it comes to room numbers and key card, and Shoma isn’t rude.

He may be upset, but he isn’t going to be rude.

“Yes, why?” he replies. If Yuzuru wants to know more, he’ll have to ask.

“Can I come over?”

Of course he just does it, just asks, straight ahead with no sense of consequence. Why is Shoma even surprised anymore.

“Okay.”

He opens the door before Yuzuru even appears, just readying himself to have Yuzuru back in his space, looking around for any dirty underwear he might have forgotten in a corner in the day and a half he’s been here. He finds none, which is a relief.

Yuzuru knocks on his half-open door, making Shoma jump a little.

“Hi,” he says, careful. His shoulder still set the way they were at the rink, barely held in frustration, tense and thrumming. Shoma doesn’t know where Yuzuru finds the energy.

“Hi,” says Shoma back, so low it comes out a raspy whisper.

It makes Yuzuru smile, and he opens the door to step through, and closes it behind him, gentle enough for it to not even make a sound when it shuts. There’s a soft click, and then silence, while they stare at each other.

Shoma was right to be scared of how it would be to talk to Yuzuru, after all this texting. He swallows, drops his eyes, but looks back up immediately, because Yuzuru just stands there, looking at him.

“How is your foot?” Shoma asks.

Yuzuru frowns at him, then. Shoma points at the bed, half-made, as usual, but it hadn’t bothered them before, when they were just hanging out and playing games so whatever. It’s fine.

Yuzuru is wearing comfy track pants and an old but clean t-shirt as well, so he might as well sit and elevate his legs. Shoma climbs onto the bed, back to the wall and legs straight out in front of him, and pushes a pillow under his shins. That’s good enough.

Yuzuru watches him, still frowning, but comes when Shoma motions again. Shoma throws him a pillow instead of handing it to him, and it hits Yuzuru in the shoulder, Yuzuru’s noodly arm not enough to prevent the hit. Shoma laughs at his dumbstruck face, but just a little, because Yuzuru looks silly. It’s a chuckle, barely enough to count, but Yuzu pulls a dramatic sad face and sits down with a sigh.

He’s leaning back as well, and folds the pillow to elevate his hurt foot a bit higher.

“It hurts a little, but the swelling is going down. By the time the show really starts it should be fine.”

Shoma hums, a little. They’re shoulder to shoulder, both slumping a little, and Shoma can feel the heat emanating from Yuzu even though they aren’t close enough to touch. There is enough space for Shoma to put his hand down between them on the bed to push up a little, shift so he sits a little straighter.

Yuzuru leans his head back, Adam’s apple bobbing, and sighs. “It’s so dumb. I slipped. It wasn’t even on the ice, I was just running and there was something weird on the ground and I just. I knocked against a guard rail thing while I was falling.”

He laughs a little. “I had to hobble my way back, my mum was so mad when I called her.”

Shoma looks up at him. With Shoma sitting straight and Yuzu reclined in a comfortable slump, they’re almost of a height.

“I thought you’d trained too hard.”

It slips out, but Yuzuru doesn’t seem bothered by Shoma talking about this at all. He’s basically admitting that he looks at the bruises, considers them to figure out how Yuzuru is doing, and Yuzuru doesn’t seem to care, just smiles a little, crooked, and knocks his shoulder into Shoma’s.

Like their conversation on the ice wasn’t disruptive at all.

Tension bleeds out of Shoma, when he realizes that they are fine. He told Yuzuru to stop, and they’re fine. They are talking about Yuzuru’s bruises, and that’s fine, too.

It’s fine. They’re friends.

“Mostly,” Yuzuru starts, disrupting Shoma’s revelation, “they’re mostly from training, but I’ve been getting better at not pushing myself. I hope you’ve noticed.”

Shoma nods, slowly. Yuzuru has been better, like Shoma has been better: as you grow, you learn your boundaries, and you learn to fall to minimize damage. The last time Yuzuru was really badly bruised up was just after—

Shoma’s thought shy away from it, and he winces.

“I was worried,” he says.

Yuzuru nods. “Yeah. I get worried, too.”

“So your foot isn’t seriously injured?”

“Nah, just superficial bruising. There were scans, just to make sure.”

“Ok,” Shoma says, slowly. He believes that.

Yuzuru has already admitted that it hurts, he wouldn’t lie now. Why should he?

But Yuzuru turns to him.

“I wanted to say something else, though.”

He braces himself, so he can keep his leg on the pillow but turn his upper body to Shoma, as if wanting to make sure Shoma knows he’s talking to _him_.

His hand slides against Shoma’s thigh on the bed, where Yuzuru has to put it down.

Shoma looks at him, and Yuzuru’s eyes are serious, the smile gone from his face.

“I’m sorry I overstepped, at practice today.”

Shoma can feel his eyes go wide. He thought they were not talking about that, anymore.

Yuzuru doesn’t really have anything to apologize for. They’re fine.

But Yuzuru keeps talking, barreling on like he does in interviews, a torrent of words as he tries to get to the center of what he’s trying to communicate.

“I wasn’t thinking about the bruises giving us away, and I shouldn’t have pulled your glove off without asking, that was--“

“That was an accident, I pulled away, too--”

“I should have given you space--”

“But I don’t need you to!”

Shoma didn’t know he could raise his voice like that, firm and pleading at the same time, and Yuzuru is staring at him, breathing hard.

His eyes are so dark, and so intent on Shoma’s face and he’s blushing and he knows it, and his hand moves to cover Yuzuru’s between them without Shoma even thinking.

“I don’t need you to give me space, Yuzu, I--“

But Shoma doesn’t get to finish that sentence, because Yuzuru’s other hand is on the back of his neck, holding him, and he’s moving.

Close.

And Shoma’s eyes slide closed, because he knows what is coming.

Yuzuru stops, seconds away from a kiss, millimeters away. Giving him space.

So Shoma closes it.

There is a yearning in the touch of their lips that is unexpected, like discovering something once it’s gone. It’s soft and shallow and breathy and Shoma might be shaking, or it might be Yuzuru’s hand in his hair.

Maybe it’s both. Yuzuru pulls in a breath, moving away just a little, and Shoma can feel it against his mouth, so he moves back in, to fit hip lips between Yuzu’s, just to see if that can fit like their hands do.

Yuzuru sighs, a little, mouth opening more, the press of his teeth scraping against Shoma’s lips and Shoma follows him, deepening the kiss inadvertently, turning it soft again. Yuzuru’s hand in his hair turns supportive when Shoma tilts his head up to kiss back harder, just a little, just to see if he can make Yuzuru sigh again.

He can.

Yuzuru smiles, when they part.

“Was that ok?”

His hand is still in Shoma’s hair, the other entangled with Shoma’s hand, and Shoma can’t help but smile back, enamored with what they’ve just done.

With how well that worked, how good it felt. How easy.

Shoma forgets, sometimes, how straightforward it feels to interact with Yuzu, how simple he makes things. Shoma feels present around him, rather than exhausted. He doesn’t have to think so much, doesn’t want to consider all angles of what an interaction might mean when he’s with him.

He feels present, right now, body thrumming with excitement and nerves and his smile doesn’t slip.

“Yes.”

Yuzuru smiles, again, and leans back in, and Shoma meets him in the middle, the kiss a more secure, firm thing between them now.

It doesn’t have to change the easy rapport they’ve developed since deciding to be friends.

Shoma still ends up with his console on his lap, beating level after level, it’s just that instead of sitting opposite him, playing the same levels ever so slightly slower, Yuzuru is too lazy to go get his own game.

Instead, he sits with his chin hooked over Shoma’s shoulder, wedged between the wall and Shoma’s back, and watches Shoma beat level after level. He offers a smart-ass comment, every now and then, but other than that he’s just a reassuring weight that rests warm against Shoma’s side.

He cheers every time Shoma levels up. It makes something warm unfurl in Shoma’s chest, hesitantly, but there.

***

Shoma can’t fall asleep.

His bed smells wrong, like the soap Yuzuru uses and his skin, and it’s strange, because Shoma can’t stop replaying the kiss in his head.

It was fine as long as Yuzuru was there with him, a warm distracting presence leaning relaxed against Shoma’s side and laughing softly at the mistakes Shoma makes in his video game. He was so close that Shoma could feel him breathe, the steady up and down motion of his chest against Shoma’s back interrupted by a chuckle every now and then.

But always, again, Yuzuru’s wide eyes, upset and reaching out, the press of lips to lips and did Shoma really do this?

Did Shoma really want this, or was he caught up in the moment?

Will they do it again?

His heart beats faster at the thought, and he can’t differentiate between excitement and anxiety because to the weight pressing down on his lungs they feel the same.

He draws the comforter closer around himself, but that just makes him smell the traces of Yuzu on the sheets. Shoma presses his eyes closed.

It makes no sense to worry about what is done. He can’t take it back and he doesn’t want to take it back as much as he wants to make it un-happen. He doesn’t have the sense of unsatisfied regret he feels after a bad skate, just a strange disquieting worry about what it means, what it _can_ mean.

Whether it even means anything, when Shoma has kissed other friends before and it never had to mean more than that: a kiss is a kiss. A pleasant distraction, sometimes. An expression of affection, maybe, just another way to communicate a feeling.

Maybe a kiss can just be a kiss, even with Yuzu.

***

Everybody is going out to dinner together, the entire cast, and even some of the staff, to ring in the beginning of the show now that everybody has arrived and they will begin to practice the big opening and closing numbers.

“I promise,” Kanako laughs, when she tells Shoma to get his ass out of bed to meet them at the restaurant after his afternoon practice, “I promise this time we are not going clubbing.”

Shoma feels himself blush, so he tries to hide his face in his hand, pretending to yawn.

He does feel tired, so it isn’t a lie.

“And even if we do end up in a club, you are not getting any drinks, and you are never drinking anything you haven’t seen in the process of being poured, ever again, right?!”

Shoma nods. He has learned his lesson.

“I’ll be there,” he says. He didn’t go to most of the group events on the last leg of shows, because he felt so awkward, and wanted to avoid interaction, but he knows it’ll be fine. It’s the last round of shows he’ll do before he has to return to training full-time, so he can be properly prepared for his competitions in the coming season.

Yuzuru passes them, bowing to Kanako, who laughs at him for being so formal, and smiling at Shoma. Shoma waves, smiling back, like nothing strange happened at all.

See, they’re fine.  

Kanako looks at him, the blush still on his face. Yuzuru is still looking at Shoma, even as he walks away, turning at the hip to smile at him with crinkly eyes. He looks silly, and Javi, who waved and then kept texting, says something to him when he has to keep Yuzu from walking into a post.

No wonder he tripped and fell while jogging, and bruised his leg bad enough to scare Shoma.

Shoma shakes his head, fond.

“So that’s still happening, huh,” Kanako notes, with laughter in her voice.

“What?”

Kanako just looks at him, and Shoma freezes, scared that somehow, in that mysterious way his friends seem to know way too much about Shoma, she just. Knows about the kissing. Instead, Kanako’s eyes grow mischievous, a smile that rolls down her face and promises embarrassment for Shoma.

“Hey, Sho, remember when you won bronze at the Grand Prix Final in your first senior season and you felt so awkward you didn’t even put your arm around the other skaters on the podium.”

Shoma groans, letting his head fall back into his neck.

He remembers that moment very well.

He stood there, after an entire event in which Mihoko had extended such effort to keep Shoma and Yuzuru in different sections of the warm-up area, so Shoma wouldn’t get distracted, and then he’d stood there. And Yuzuru had smiles down at him his media smile, like Shoma was anyone. He could have been anyone, and Shoma just. His face couldn’t do it, couldn’t form a smile, no matter how hard he tried.

He’d done everything the photographers had yelled at him to do: turned this way and that, held up his medal, even climbed up to join Yuzuru and Javi on the highest step of the podium. Javi had laughed, when Shoma stood there, like a statue, telling him “Hey, just smile, it’ll be over faster.”

But Shoma couldn’t. Yuzuru had said something to him, then, low and kind in the way he talks to everybody, about Shoma putting his arm around him, but Shoma had ignored it and stared straight ahead, already overwhelmed with the amount of objects already in his hand.

Overwhelmed by how close they had to stand and by how much he just wanted to run away.

It’s one of the reasons people think he’s stand-offish and unapproachable. Kanako laughs at his expression.

“Yeah,” she says. “that. I’m glad that isn’t going to be a problem anymore.”

***

The restaurant was picked by the organizers, so it is slightly more upscale than anything Shoma would have picked. Shoma dresses up: dark jeans and a dress shirt.

Everybody else is in various states of comfort, but no one is in a full suit, banquet style, so Shoma is happy with what he picked for himself.

Javi waves hello when Shoma joins the group that is collecting in front of the hotel to walk to the restaurant together. Yuzu isn’t with him, but Miki is there, arms hooked together. She is holding a little girl on her hip, and the little girl is pulling Javi’s glasses off his nose, so he is suitably distracted.

Shoma laughs at them, a little, and walks past, trying to find somebody less obviously involved in a conversation to stand next to. He finds Kanako, who squeals when she sees him and immediately involves him in a conversation. Shoma doesn’t have to do much, just nod and smile and look conscious, so that’s perfect.

The restaurant is fancy enough that Shoma is hesitant to order. It’s weird, he doesn’t usually mind, but the waiters in high-class restaurants are intimidating. He’s seated next to two skaters he doesn’t know. He’s seen them around, but they’ve never spoken, and it feels awkward. It’s exhausting.

They ask about his past season, about what it felt like to switch up to seniors, about the quad flip and whether he will keep doing it.

When his plate is empty, Shoma feels bone-deep tired, his eyes sliding shut.

There’s a soft tap on his shoulder.

“Hi,” says Yuzuru, wearing a cream-colored sweater and looking too alive for the world.

“I saw you falling asleep from over there. Do you want to walk back to the hotel?  I was heading out anyway.”

Shoma nods, shuffles out of his seat. He wants to go pay, but is waved off by the organizers, who can probably just take the food out of his paycheck.

“It’s a sponsored meal,” Yuzuru laughs, when Shoma utters his thought. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

They get out of there with a polite goodbye to the group, rather than saying goodbye to everyone individually like Shoma has been dreading. Yuzuru waves, yelling loud enough to reach the other end of the long table they were seated along, so Shoma just has to wave and nod and bow.

Yuzuru has a way of making things easy for him.

“Did you have fun?” Shoma asks him, as they finally get out of the restaurant and out into the street. The neon signs color the night red and yellow and bright blue, but it’s quiet.

Yuzu nods, smiles. They walk alongside each other in silence for a bit, but it’s comfortable.

It usually is, when Shoma is with Yuzuru. It’s everything around them that makes him question things, wonder about his sincerity and what people might think.

If they could exist in a vacuum, that was just them and maybe an ice rink. That might be the dream.

Yuzuru brushes Shoma’s shoulder, walking a little wonky.

“Are you drunk?”

Shoma laughs, and Yuzuru looks down at him, one eyebrow raising.

“I don’t drink.”

“They why do you walk like that?”

Shoma demonstrates, exaggerates by placing one foot over the other, bringing himself into a stumble that makes Yuzu reach out for his shoulder to steady him.

His hand is warm.

He’s laughing, pulling Shoma back only to walk in an imitation of a drunk person leaning on a friend, his upper body practically draped over Shoma’s, legs as noodle-like as he can make them.

His breath is warm against the side of Shoma’s face where he’s laughing, and Shoma can’t help it: he wraps his arm around Yuzuru’s waist to support him, laughs along until he realizes the looks that passersby are throwing them.

He lets go of Yuzu like he’s burned, stepping to the side to leave him to stand by himself.

“Oh,” Yuzuru says. “Sorry.”

They walk in silence for a bit again, careful not to touch. The street is emptying the closer they get to the hotel, as they leave bars and restaurants behind. Shoma didn’t notice them much on the way here, enveloped by the group as he was, but now he realises that the hotel is a little off, a few side-roads down from the major entertainment part nearby. It takes him a while before Shoma can look at Yuzu again.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?” Yuzuru sounds confused. Confused enough to stop and stare at Shoma.

“Why—“

“I keep doing that,” Shoma rushes on. “I keep letting you and then I—“

“It’s ok, I—“

They keep talking on top of each other, in moments like this. It’s like they can’t let the other finish a sentence, declare something close, without wanting to make sure that they know it’s understood.

He knows Yuzu isn’t angry with him. If he were, he would have stopped trying a while ago, and just accepted whatever Shoma can currently offer, in terms of physical contact. In terms of friendship, too. Instead, Yuzuru offers more, and more, and pulls back when Shoma asks him to or pushes him away, but he always comes back with a little more for Shoma to taste. Inching closer, pulling back, like the weirdest kind of dance.

“Let me explain?”

Yuzuru nods. He’s blushing, maybe because the last time they started talking on top of each other, it ended with Shoma yelling, and then.

Kissing.

Another thing Yuzuru offered and Shoma took.

He doesn’t want to take it for granted, but he also doesn’t know what to think of it, yet.

“I keep pulling away,” Shoma says, and Yuzuru nods. He doesn’t rush in to say anything, so Shoma continues. “I don’t do it because I’m uncomfortable.”

Yuzuru nods again. It’s a weird conversation to have on the middle of the sidewalk, facing each other in the light of a street lamp and a few neon signs over a pharmacy. But this is as good a place as any. At least this time it isn’t the rink.

“I just don’t like it when people look.”

“Ok,” Yuzuru says, carefully, slowly. As if testing if Shoma is done speaking. Shoma is. He looks at Yuzuru expectantly, can feel his own face warming under Yuzuru’s scrutiny.

Somehow, without Shoma noticing, Yuzuru has crept closer, sneaky as he can be, so he’s standing right in front of Shoma rather than a little away. Close enough that Shoma has to tilt his head back a little more than before to look up into his eyes.

“So affection is good?”

Shoma nods, feels a smile unfurling on his own face, when Yuzuru immediately reaches out to grasp Shoma’s wrist.

“Just not public displays of affection?”

He’s using the English term, and Shoma tilts his head, thinking about that. Yeah. He likes everything they’ve done, he just doesn’t like it when it draws attention. They are trying to keep a secret, and if they make people look at them, maybe someone will notice something. A bruise they haven’t noticed.

It doesn’t mean they can’t touch. Shoma touches his other friends, he is a big fan of sitting in laps, even if hugs are a little strange sometimes.

Instead of answering, Shoma just turns his hand in Yuzuru’s grip, so his thumb is pressed to the soft inside of Shoma’s wrist. Yuzuru slides his fingers down and between Shoma’s, tangling them. Then he just drops their hands between them, hidden between their bodies like a secret.

They keep walking.

“Did you enjoy dinner tonight?”

Shoma shrugs. He did not not enjoy it?

“It was okay. I’m a little tired.”

Yuzuru smiles at him. “I saw. I thought your head would fall into your bowl and then somebody would have to fish you out.”

Shoma shrugs, grins back at him. “At least it wasn’t soup. No risk of drowning.”

It makes Yuzu snort, a new silly sound that Shoma happily catalogues.

“No soups for you,” he says, “not ever. Imagine the headlines: World renowned figure skater dies by drowning in soup. Nation in tears.”

Shoma wants to tell him that no newspaper would call him world-renowned, but he keeps the words to himself, swallows around the thickness in his throat.

“Bathed in moonlight, strangled by her bra.”

“What?” Yuzuru looks confused, but amused, too.

“That’s a thing Satoko told me, when she forced me to watch Star Wars for her program. The princess wants to die like that: bathed in moonlight.”

“You’ve watched Star Wars?”

Shoma shrugs. “Yeah. All the parts, even the old ones. I almost fell asleep though.”

Yuzuru laughs. “I didn’t think you’d watch something like that. It’s cool though. You’re full of surprises.”

Shoma can feel himself blush again. The floor is suddenly very interesting. It’s basically all black where the light doesn’t hit it. Shoma wishes, sometimes, he could disappear into a hole that black.

Yuzuru squeezes his hand, just a little, turning them palm to palm and wrapping his hand around Shoma’s more securely. It reminds Shoma that they are holding hands at all. He’s just gotten used to the feeling.

They arrive back at the hotel much faster than anticipated.

“So…” Yuzuru says.

“So…” Shoma answers.

There’s a bunch of stairs that lead up to the entrance, which is dark. There’s only a few night lights on, the desk with the receptionist a low golden glow from the back of the hall.

Shoma sits down on the uppermost stair. Because they are still attached by the hands, and Shoma doesn’t let go, he pulls Yuzuru down next to him. Yuzu hits the stone hard, and winces.

“Ouch, that’s going to bruise.”

Shoma looks at him, eyes wide.

Yuzuru meets his eye, and blushes. “I guess you’ll see for yourself, huh.”

He keeps acknowledging it: the bruise bond, the fact that he can see all of Shoma’s little accidents reflected on his skin.

It’s supposed to be off-limits, but they’ve talked about it a few times. When it’s like this, just Yuzuru and Shoma on their own, with no one watching, Shoma can’t find it in him to mind.

It just scares him, that they might slip up, reveal the secret. When he’s alone with his thoughts, it scares him. The rules are there for a reason. It’s not a reason Shoma is explicitly familiar with, but there were reasons.

They might end up breaking the rules, rather than just bending them.

And then Yuzu might end up leaving him again.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t reprimand Yuzuru for saying something that might sound innocuous to a stranger’s ears anyway. He likes the moment too much to disturb it with something like this, especially when Yuzu has been carefully tiptoeing along the established boundaries, always offering what Shoma finds himself secretly wanting.

The thought strikes him, that he only thinks Yuzuru’s comment might give them away because he knows.

A stranger might just think that Yuzuru was just going to show Shoma. Later.

Shoma can feel his face growing warm all over again; another layer of pink and his face might as well be tomato-red. He sits there, trying very hard not to move, not to let that thought show on his face.

“Can I ask you something?”

Yuzuru fidgets, after he utters the question, fingers going to the zipper at the neckline of his sweater. The sweater is nice, expensive. His whole outfit is very nice. His jeans are very tight, stretching over Yuzu’s thighs in a way Shoma is trying not to notice, but it’s difficult, with his hand resting so close to it. If Shoma shifts just a few millimeters closer, he might drag his knuckles across the fabric. It might feel rough, but Shoma doubts it. Yuzuru is known to like his creature comforts.

“You don’t have to answer, but I’m really curious. And I know it’s not something we’ve talked about, but.”

Shoma drags his eyes up to meet Yuzuru’s, who is biting his lip.

It’s very distracting.

Shoma nods his okay, which Yuzu takes as encouragement to ask his question.

“When did you get your first bruise?”

Shoma’s mouth opens, but no words come out.

Yuzuru just keeps looking at him, and his hand squeezes tighter, even though Shoma isn’t trying to move away.

He’s just surprised.

Of all the strange questions to ask, this one is the most unexpected.

“I know mine,” Yuzuru rushes on to say. “I know the moment, or. I know the bruise? I know when it started, for me, but it doesn’t always start at the same moment, right. So I just--“

He’s rushing through his words, like Yuzuru only does when he’s nervous. Yuzuru laughs, a little high-pitched.

“I was eight. I was skating, and I fell a lot, so I was covered in bruises anyway, but I remember that I had this one bruise that didn’t hurt at all. I liked all of them, but that one was my favourite.”

Shoma stares at him. “You picked favourite bruises?”

Yuzuru stares back, and his face cracks into a smile, this one genuine. “I still do... sometimes.”

Shoma can’t bite back a smile at that, and just sits there, helplessly smiling when they are doing something so wrong.

This is worse than kissing. This is soulmate stuff. These are questions that happen when one tries to get to know their soulmate, and they aren’t supposed to do that, to each other.

But then, where’s the difference, between Yuzuru asking, and Kanako asking?

Probably, Shoma thinks, the difference is that nobody has ever asked him before.

This is only important to the both of them, because this is what they share. And they shouldn’t share this, because this exceeds normal friendship, but then again. It almost doesn’t.

Maybe it can be more like sharing a hobby, as long as they don’t use the bruises like soulmates do. Maybe it can just be a thing they talk about because it affects them, like they talk about skating regulations, or choreography, or the friends they have in common.

It doesn’t feel wrong to talk about their bruises. It doesn’t wrench Shoma’s heart like it should, to look into Yuzuru’s eyes or to hold his hand, or to kiss him. As long as no one else knows, they can just be friends who do this, maybe.

“I was five,” he says, when Yuzuru has looked away, down at his knees again, like he doesn’t expect an answer that is more than Shoma’s smile.

He doesn’t look unhappy with that, which is maybe why Shoma says anything at all. Yuzuru doesn’t expect anything from him. He never expects more than Shoma is willing to give, and would never push Shoma further than Shoma needs him to.

He just wants Yuzu to keep making that face, that delighted face.

“I think I had only just started skating classes? But I’m not sure. I was falling a lot, so everything hurt, but I know that my mum noticed I had bruises where I shouldn’t have them. She was worried, so she took me to the hospital.”

It doesn’t sound fun, when Shoma says it like that. It doesn’t sound like something happy to happen to a person at all, which is the dual nature of soulmates: you get someone who is supposed to fit you perfectly, but you also get to see and share their pain.

“No one in my family has a bond. So we didn’t know. It didn’t look like in the movies, so she thought I was sick.”

Yuzu doesn’t look delighted, anymore. He isn’t smiling at all, face frozen in a worried expression. Shoma should have known that sharing this was a mistake.

“Hey,” Shoma says, voice bright. “It must have been around the same time as your first bruises showed up, though, right?”

Yuzuru nods, thinking. Shoma wants to crawl into his brain, wants to find out what is happening in there, what connections Yuzuru is making right now, between his own experiences and what Shoma just told him. He squeezes Yuzu’s hand, and Yuzu looks at him.

He smiles, small and genuine, a smile that is familiar to Shoma by now.

“Do you think it’s connected? You starting to skate and our bruises showing up?”

It makes Shoma laugh, a little. That’s how the narratives go, after all: decisions are made, paths chosen, and destinies fulfilled.

Shoma has a hard time believing that. Shared bruises do not make a soulbond. If anyone should know this, it should be them.

His laughter comes out a little strangled, and Yuzuru waits him out.

“No,” Shoma says. “I think it’s coincidence.”

Yuzuru nods. They hands are still pressed together.

They sit there, for longer than they probably should, on the cold stones outside of the hotel. The darkness is a blanket around them, that makes everything feel a little softer, a little more secure than it probably is. They could go inside, but they they’d have to split up.

They could go inside and choose to go to one of their rooms together to hang out, but they would inevitably end up just playing a game.

They would have to let go of each other, too.

So they just sit there, for long moments.

“Do you ever think about what it would be like, to not have anything to hide?”

Shoma asks before he can stop himself. Something about the darkness, the stillness of the evening, the way they are curled together, makes it easy for his thoughts to just leave his mouth.

Maybe it’s just Yuzuru.

But Yuzu doesn’t flinch away from the question. His eyes are serious when he looks at Shoma, smile almost entirely gone again.

“There are always things to hide.”

Shoma tilts his head, like a question, and Yuzuru just continues as if he’d actually spoken. It makes Shoma smile, just a little, a warm feeling in his chest.

“Even when it isn’t a soulbond, there’s stuff people want to keep close and keep to themselves. Like my family, I want them to just live without media attention, so my mum and my sister aren’t allowed to be filmed when they watch me practice, or during competitions. And,”

He hesitates, looks at Shoma for a long moment before letting his eyes drop down to his knees again, staring forward.

“There is always stuff one doesn’t say. It isn’t keeping it secret as much as just.. not saying it. Like... I like boys.”

Yuzuru says it with a damning finality, like he expects Shoma to get up and leave him sitting there. Like Shoma didn’t figure this out a while ago, or, this morning at the latest. He runs his thumb over the back of Yuzuru’s hand, instead. It’s small comfort, but it’s all Shoma can do about it.

“I like boys, and that’s not exactly a thing that is… accepted. In public figures. Not even for soulmates.”

Shoma nods, and it makes Yuzuru finally turn to him. It isn’t hard to smile at Yuzuru, small and supportive.

“Mihoko said. She said that soulmates can be platonic. I think, sometimes, that that is the expectation, for people like us.”

Yuzuru’s eyes drop down again.

Shoma realises what he’s just said, what that sounded like, and tries to keep breathing.

Steady, careful breaths.

People like us, as in: people with soulmates. They aren’t. Whatever they are, Yuzu didn’t want that.

“We’re friends,” Shoma says, and it turns into a question halfway through. “We said, friends? At first.”

Yuzuru nods, and for the first time in the hours they’ve sat here, he tries to pull his hand away.

Shoma lets him, but his own hand feels cold afterwards. Sort of empty, where Shoma has gotten used to holding Yuzu’s.

“Not soulmates, though.”

Yuzuru nods again, but this time it takes him longer. It looks like he’s fighting it, like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t.

Shoma waits, but Yuzuru doesn’t say anything. He just stares at the ground.

There are things about their friendship that Shoma doesn’t understand. There are lines that were drawn before Shoma could really follow what was happening, because he was too overwhelmed, and that were never fully explained to him. He doesn’t know what the rules are, all he knows is that Yuzuru didn’t want to be his soulmate and that that is an unchanged fact.

Yuzuru’s offer, of friendship, sounded like a ploy because of that, but Shoma has learned better since. He’s gotten to know Yuzu, gotten to like him so much. He’s so smart, and so determined, and so full of affection and attentiveness. It seemed to good to be true from afar, but from where Shoma is sitting right now, it’s almost too much.

If Shoma wanted, he could leave it at that, and they would go on as they have been, maybe. But that sinking feeling of being too close and not close enough, and not knowing a solution for that feeling, it would follow Shoma around, and it might start to overshadow every interaction like it overshadowed their messages, while they were apart.

Being like this, being this close, it’s easier when Yuzuru is physically there with him, and Shoma doesn’t know what that means. All he knows is that he wants to see where it will lead while they have the opportunity to explore it.

Last night, Shoma said he didn’t need space. And he realises that that is still true.

Clearly, Yuzu wants something different than what they had initially established. Whatever he wants, Shoma wants to try that. He can’t promise that he will like it, or deal with it well, whatever it is, but he wants to try.

Yuzuru established the rules, and if he is changing them, then Shoma will work with him. Bend them, though perhaps not break them.

“I don’t want space,” Shoma ends up saying, repeating what he’d said the night before. He says it with finality, and it makes Yuzuru’s head shoot up to look at him.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” Shoma says. “And I don’t know why you are just changing all the rules but... I want to know what you want? And if you don’t think that we are merely friends, then...”

Yuzuru’s face opens, in the half-dark, into a smile that is so happy; he’s beaming. A soft, radiant smile that Shoma just answers.

Shoma has the habit of pulling back when Yuzuru pushes, but maybe he can stop that, at least sometimes. He likes the affection, so maybe he can keep it for a while. Make it last, in these private spaces they carve out for themselves.

“You need to tell me what has changed. Because I kissed you back.”

“You did!” Yuzuru says, and his hands come up to frame Shoma’s face, palms to his cheeks in a way that should feel awkward but just makes him feel strangely cherished. “You did kiss me back!”

His mood is a complete turn from just a few minutes ago, and it makes Shoma feel like he’s worked out a problem bigger than himself.

“I wasn’t sure what that meant,” Yuzuru says, shaking his head at himself.

Shoma smiles, and it feels weird because his cheeks are squished by Yuzu’s hands, and Yuzu laughs at his expression, slides his hands back to rest on Shoma’s shoulders, fingers tangling in Shoma’s hair a little.

“I wasn’t sure, either. But I liked it.”

Yuzu nods, “Yeah.”

He looks determined, like he is making a life choice.

“I want that. I want to do that, with you. Maybe we can be more than friends?”

They both seem to be making a lot of life choices, lately. Shoma smiles, and brings his own arms up to wrap around Yuzu’s waist, so they can hug. They legs are in the way, so it ends up kind of awkward, hips and thighs pressed together and upper bodies twisted, but they make it work.

It shifts them, so Shoma’s head can bury into the crook of Yuzu’s shoulder.

It feels safe there. Like whatever they are doing isn’t rushing ahead into uncertain territory, like they aren’t making a big mistake. They should be solidifying their friendship, instead of whatever this is, whatever more than friends means. Whatever it may become.

Yuzuru hides his face in Shoma’s shoulder. It’s warm, like this, even though Shoma’s hips twinge from the way he’s sitting, he doesn’t want to move.

The darkness around them is a blanket, maybe. Shoma stifles a yawn into Yuzuru’s sweater. It is a very soft sweater, he finds, when he rubs his head against it.

“You’re like a cat,” Yuzu laughs, a low chuckle against Shoma’s ribs. “and you’re tired. We should really go sleep.”

It’s easier to let go after this, than it was to let Yuzu take his hand back, before.

Something is settled. Everything else is in motion.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter did not go according to (original outline) plan. I hope you guys like it anyway?
> 
> (also, posted super early because we crossed the 100 kudo mark!!! thank you!!!)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> verit made a music mix and I have many feelings abt it!!  
> [ Find It Here](http://verit.tumblr.com/post/163339362016/boundaries-of-what-we-can-be-a-gravity-breaking)

 

Shoma meets Kanako for breakfast in the morning, after she’s spent a good fifteen minutes knocking on his door to wake him up in time.

He had sat outside with Yuzu for a long time, but everybody else was out longer. Shoma doesn’t understand how she can be so chipper when he’s so tired. He yawns, dresses, and takes the elevator down.

He doesn’t think about Yuzuru’s arm around his waist when they’d stood in here together, how easy it was to lean up and kiss Yuzu’s smiling mouth before getting out of the elevator and falling through his hotel door right into bed. He doesn’t.

“You look dopey,” Kanako laughs, weaves her arm through his and pulls him in the direction of a restaurant. She has a plan, clearly, so Shoma just goes along with it, groaning softly and trying to make his expression something that is less… whatever Kanako had just seen there.

“Dinner last night was so much fun! I’m excited for tonight, it’s going to be amazing. I feel like the group is really in synch, so the big numbers are going to look great!”

Her face is flushes, her smile huge on her face, and Shoma can’t help but smile back at Kanako when she’s so pleased.

It’s nice.

He hasn’t caught up with her the way he should, probably, but Kanako hasn’t really pushed him to hang out the way she usually does, either.

He wonders, sometimes, just how much Kanako suspects, about Shoma and Yuzu, and whatever it is they’re doing. She doesn’t ask.

Shoma eats another bite of rice, chews.

He doesn’t know if he wants her to ask, or if he feels relieved that she doesn’t hound him on what happened, what has been happening. He could probably talk about it, and Kanako would probably know the right thing to say, but as it is, Shoma doesn’t know what the right thing is.

He doesn’t really want to be told, before figuring it out himself.

Kanako kicks him under the table, startling Shoma out of his thoughts.

“Am I boring you?” She’s grinning, so she can’t be mad at him. Shoma smiles, mimes embarrassment.

“I’m just tired.”

It makes her eyes narrow. “But you left so early yesterday?”

Shoma nods, and Kanako’s eyes narrow more. If she squints any more her eyes will just shut and then Shoma might be able to sneak away without her noticing.

“Yeah, but I didn’t go to sleep immediately,” is what he settles on.

Kanako nods, frowns at him, but she doesn’t say anything about it, just kicks him again, firmly. Shoma kicks back, thinking about the bruise she probably just caused, but Kanako just laughs and tries to get him at the knees until their table is shaking and they almost upend their breakfast onto the floor.

They eat in companionable silence, after that.

“Are you sad that it’s almost over?” Shoma asks, when he’s full and Kanako is finishing off her plate. He pushes some rice around his plate with his chopstick, idly.

“There’s a few more shows?”

“Yeah, but that’s only two more weeks. Then it’s back to training, and the first competitions, and everybody is going to be busy and apart again.”

Kanako looks at him, Shoma can see out of the corner of his eyes, but he just stares down at his plate. She swallows, sighs.

“Hmm, I mean. It’s good, too? To have a routine again, and really focus on training. I’m looking forward to that.”

Shoma nods. “No, of course. It’s just…”

“Aww,” Kanako coos, “are you going to miss us?”

***

They will have a last rehearsal before the final show, a few hours after the morning practice session, which Shoma spends running through his new programs without the music, practicing bits and pieces out of order, focusing on his step sequences in particular. He throws in a jump here and there, but avoids the frenzied pace of practicing jump after jump after jump.

He feels too tired for that, and there is a twinge in his hips that he doesn’t like. He’ll leave the jumps for the last part of his session, when the ice has cleared a little and it is just Yuzu and Javi and perhaps a few of the older skaters that share the ice with him. Maybe by the time his song will play he’ll be warmed up enough to feel loose and slip jumps in more easily than he can achieve right now.

Mihoko has gone back home, since Shoma is fine on his own for now. His programs look good, so there is little work for her to do there. She left a list of instructions, things he needs to incorporate into his on-ice sessions, that he had read through and then immediately forgot.

Yuzuru’s short program music is a change in pace to the other songs playing. It’s familiar to Shoma, and anyway, it’s more metallic and upbeat than the piano piece that preceded it.

Shoma turns around himself to spot Yuzuru, so he’ll know to get out of Yuzuru’s way, but once Shoma is looking, he can’t look away. He stands by the boards as Yuzuru weaves through a complicated set of transitions, eyes glued to the hand Yuzu runs through his hair and down his neck. Watches him leap into jumps and spins and there is something about the music, and how it builds, that makes Shoma feel that if he touched Yuzu right now, he’d feel a shock of electricity.

It’s a good program, for Yuzuru. He’s doing something slow and introverted for his free skate, but Shoma doesn’t know what exactly. This is a good change of pace, whatever it is.

He swallows, the music stops, and Yuzu breathes hard, sweat gleaming on his skin.

He managed an almost clean run-through. It’s a bit rough in places, Shoma can tell, but it’s amazing already. The part Yuzu sent him was probably the first part they did.

“Do you like it?” Yuzu asks, coming up to Shoma, wiping his forehead. He’s heaving, a little, but it’s not an asthma attack. His lips are pink. “I noticed you watching.”

“But you were skating,” Shoma says, and frowns up at Yuzu. He can feel himself blushing, but Yuzu just leans over the boards to catch his Pooh and pulls a tissue from it, so he probably doesn’t notice. He wipes his face some more, makes a face at how wet the tissue gets that makes Shoma laugh at him a little.

“Yeah, but I always--” Yuzu looks like he wants to say something more, but his face falls flat, and he doesn’t. It leaves the sentence an odd, aborted fragment between them.

Shoma barely notices, too distracted by how Yuzu’s breathing is growing more stable. He must be wearing his asthma patch, and Shoma can’t help but look for them, to try to spot the places they might hide. He can’t, Yuzu must have hidden the patch under his turtleneck somewhere. He shakes himself out of it to catch Yuzuru just smiling at him, just looking at Shoma staring at Yuzu.

Shoma blushes some more. It’s becoming sort of normal, now, to be beet-red in Yuzuru’s presence.  

“I do,” he says, to fill the silence. “I do like it. It’s very good. It reminds me of that exhibition you used to do, what was it called?”

“Wait,” Yuzuru freezes, smile stuck on his face. “Do you mean ‘hello, I love you?’”

Shoma tilts his head, and he knows his smile looks impish, but he can’t keep it down and he doesn’t want to. Yuzuru’s eyes grow bigger.

“The one where you strip.”

Yuzuru closes his eyes, hands coming up to hide his face. “Oh, no.”

Shoma laughs, and Yuzu laughs with him, but he sounds horrified at himself.

“I didn’t think you’d seen that! You were a  _ child _ .”

Shoma wants to tell him that he can’t be that embarrassed of the exhibition when he’d revived it just last year, but he can’t tell Yuzu that he’d watched that, too. The first time was before, so that is fair game: just a kid looking up the Olympic champion. It’s weird to think like that, now.

Last year, Shoma wasn’t meant to look at Yuzu at all. He can’t quite get used to the intricacies of it all, of being allowed insight into things so closed off to him before. When Shoma doesn’t say anything, Yuzu grins at him, knocks their shoulders together.

“I was fourteen,” is what Shoma settles on. That was the first time he’d seen that particular exhibition, anyway. “I wouldn’t say I was a child. And anyway, it wasn’t that scandalous. And I like the song.”

“I didn’t pick the music back then,” Yuzuru exclaims, as if that was an excuse for whatever that program makes him feel. “And it’s less that it’s scandalizing and more that it was just bad. Children should only see good programs by good skaters.”

Shoma can’t help but gape at him: there are a few programs Shoma has done that he would quite like to forget, in hindsight. There are more than a few that he hopes Yuzuru has not and will never see, but he isn’t going to ask Yuzu what he knows about Shoma’s past programs. Yuzuru won’t look for what he doesn’t know about.

But he wouldn’t exactly say that they are not for the consumption of children, should any children care to watch Shoma perform. He’s not great, but.

Yuzuru’s grin grows.

Shoma realizes that Yuzuru is a troll who just made a really bad joke, and rolls his eyes.

“Oh.”

Yuzuru’s laughter is bright, eyes scrunches in delight at having caught Shoma out. He throws his head back, when he’s delighted like this. It’s silly, sort of, making his long neck longer, but his lines are still gorgeous. Shoma can’t help but smile up at him.

Yuzuru is still laughing a little when he continues speaking, his smile audible.

“I picked the music this time. It’s called ‘Let’s go Crazy’, I like it a lot.”

Yuzu says the song in English, and doesn’t bother with translating it, like he expects Shoma to just know what he’s talking about, like he seems to expect that Shoma knows who the artist performing it is. Shoma doesn’t.  

“Crazy?” Shoma repeats the word, mind rolling for a translation. He can’t find one. Yuzu tilts his head, eyes moving to something behind Shoma.

“Crazy,” Javi repeats, grin firmly in place, and Shoma jumps a little, pushing off from the boards and turning to face them both. Javi smoothly inserts himself where Shoma stood seconds before, and bends over the boards to grab a tissue of his own. He blows his nose, loudly.

“Piantao,” Javi sing-songs, once he’s done. “Piantao, piantao.”

He’s grinning, and Shoma just stares at him. Yuzu is shifting away, but Javi catches him with an arm around his shoulders before Yuzu can manage to sneak away.

It gives Shoma the opportunity to stare at them both.

Mihoko picked the music, when Shoma asked whether he might do a tango this season. It seemed like a good idea, to practice his musicality, his expression. She’d sent Shoma a few cuts of music, and he likes this one best, even if the screaming seemed a bit much at first, it kind of... felt right. At the time, he felt like he was going insane, throwing himself into skating like his life depended on it.

He’d looked at the translation, and it made sense.

“Yes?” he asks Javi, when Javi doesn’t explain, just hums the music under his breath while holding a squirming Yuzuru.

“Loco,” Shoma keeps going, “it means insane, right? I looked it up, when Mihoko was choosing my music.”

Javi grins at him, when Yuzu struggles harder at that. “Yes,” he explains switching to rudimentary Japanese for Shoma’s sake, laughing out right when Yuzu finally manages to pull away. “You guys match. Crazy means insane.”

Oh. Let’s go crazy.

Yuzu laughs, too, but Shoma can see that he’s embarrassed. Shoma doesn’t quite know why?

Javi hums something else, a tune that strikes Shoma as something he knows, something he’s heard on the radio and leaves Shoma and Yuzu behind to look at each other.

Yuzu shrugs, still avoiding Shoma’s eyes.

Shoma skates up to him, and pulls him away from the boards and out onto the ice. They’ve already wasted good minutes of practice, they might as well make up for it together.

Yuzu understands the invitation for what it is, skating after Javi and landing a gorgeous quad toe right after Javi pops his.

They both come out of it laughing, and Shoma sets off into his own attempt at a jump.

His music comes up on the playlist a few minutes later, and Shoma runs through his program. It’s the short, no insanity here, and very little in terms of intensity, if not for the intense wistfulness of the music.

It’s not something Shoma would have chosen for himself, but he likes it now that he can fall into it and forget about the world, just sink into the feeling. It’s not a sad piece, though it has its dark moments, it’s about overcoming, maybe. There is discord there, and loneliness, but there’s a sense of community, Shoma thinks with every jump. Every jump adds a layer of triumph to the music, and every opportunity to cheer lets the audience break through.

He skates it like that, tries to open himself up to the feeling. He’s not a natural performer, never has been. He tries, and when he’s in a competition, there in the middle of the ice with the music beginning, he pushes through the oddness of performing and just does, and it works well enough. But he’s never tried to be anyone but himself, feel anything but what he’s felt before.

Maybe that’s why he likes this piece: it permits him to feel something he doesn’t usually let himself feel.

His last spin leaves Shoma dizzy, disoriented, and he skates on to break out of it.

Yuzuru is leaning against the boards again, and Shoma doesn’t know how long he stood there, watching.

Shoma keeps his momentum, keeps going as somebody else’s music starts, somebody else begins a run-through of whatever program they will perform tonight. He doesn’t meet Yuzuru’s eyes.

He’s a little too scared of what he’ll find there.

***

Yuzuru is everywhere, during the rehearsal. They split up after morning practice, Shoma for a nap, Yuzu for an interview with a newspaper and lunch with his mum, who has come to see the show before heading back home in the evening.

Yuzu had said it with a glint in his eye, and Shoma had fled the conversation. He doesn’t want to meet Yuzuru’s mother, his own is enough. Besides, he doesn’t know what she might think of him. She probably knows. She might not like whatever it is they are doing, this blurring of lines that should not be crossed.

It’s unsteady. It feels like balancing on a narrow line. Thankfully they both are used to walking on narrow blades over slippery surfaces, Shoma thinks, with a smile to himself, watching Yuzuru nod and smile at a light staffer, gesture and then fall back into formation.

Shoma hasn’t listened to whatever had been said, but it must not have been super important, since everybody just kind of runs through the motions again. Compared to the first shows Shoma did this year, this pre-show rehearsal takes a quarter of the time it did then. They have gotten faster each time, even with the addition of guest skaters to the mix, adjustments to the choreographies, the differing rink sizes and light rigs and background set-ups.

Everything is going smoothly, and Shoma feels a rush of pride at that, at how well he’s adjusted to the pace of things, to this group of people and to the new surrounding every few days. If someone had told him about this a few years ago, Shoma might have struggled with the idea of surrounding himself with this many people and this many impressions and this much stress.

Yuzuru catches his eye from across the ice as they’re skating towards the exit, and Shoma smiles back without even thinking. He goes a little slower, Yuzuru, at the other end of the group, goes a little faster, and catches up with him in seconds, catches Shoma’s elbow and spins him around as he goes in a circle.

His face is a bright grin, silly and happy and carefree, and Shoma just matches his laughter, gives their spin a little more energy.

If someone told him he’d feel like this, exuberant like this, just a year ago, Shoma might have snorted and waved them off. He’s shy, and contained, and sure, his friends coax laughter out of him, but it never felt like bubbles rising up in his chest. Laughter can also feel like a band around his chest pulling tight, gasping and wheezing and compressed.

They stop spinning when they almost hit the edge of the ice, and Shoma has to pull Yuzu close to keep him from stumbling over and falling. Yuzu hangs all over him, shaking with laughter and soaking sweat into Shoma’s t-shirt.

It should be gross but he can’t find it in himself to mind, just pushes Yuzu off with a giggle and pulls him towards the exit, because the organizers are looking half-way to impatient if not yet murderous, and the other skaters are staring.

“You guys are adorable,” Johnny coos, from where he’s standing next to Stéphane. At least that’s what Shoma understands. There’s something else, but it’s said in rapid-fire English and pointed at someone else, so Shoma doesn’t catch the meaning.

Yuzuru pulls away from Shoma, but he throws him a smile before leaving the ice. Shoma trails after, slower and hesitant, still looking at Johnny. Johnny isn’t looking anymore, already involved in three other conversations.

***

They’re like magnets, pushing and pulling, but there is less room for play during the show: They’re on for the group number, and then Yuzuru is on for a performance with a live musician, something he’s done for other shows, but not as often as he’d like this year. He was excited about it, when he told Shoma.  

Shoma is changing out of his costume slowly, careful not to show too much skin at a time, when Yuzuru rushes in, and strips his shirt off quickly, steps into his other costume. He’s done, zipped up, and jumping in place to stay energized, when he turns around and notices Shoma in his little corner.

Something frantic in Yuzu’s eyes softens, and he stops bouncing.

“Are you going to watch me skate?”

Shoma is half out of his shirt, in sock-feet and feeling slightly exposed and he is not prepared for this question.

He hasn’t, so far. He’s been keeping to himself for most of the performances, only watching Kanako and Stéphane when they explicitly invited him to, catching glimpses of the skaters on before him when he could. He tries to focus on what he has to do in his own performances, and he’s been generally too tired or too nervous to care about anything else.

He has maybe avoided watching Yuzu perform. Not on purpose, but confronted with the reality of watching Yuzuru outside of practice sessions, or seeing this other side of him when it isn’t a competition, now that they’re talking more and more and growing closer, it’s--

He makes himself nod but it’s uncertain and Yuzu realizes, and nods back at him before heading back out to prepare for his performance.

Yuzu won’t know if he doesn’t end up watching, anyway, it’s not that important.

Shoma doesn’t want to compare the Yuzu he knows to the Yuzu out there, and find his version lacking, perhaps. Or maybe they will align too well, and they’ll slip of that narrow ledge they’re balancing on.

***

Shoma catches Yuzuru when they line up after the finale to take their final bows. They’ve done this before, so he’s not too hesitant about knocking his knuckles into Yuzuru’s, about smiling up at him when Yuzuru looks at him surprised.

Yuzuru smiles back, and fits his thumb to Shoma’s wrist in a way that might look accidental. It probably doesn’t, but that’s okay. Shoma draws a circle against Yuzuru’s palm with his pinky, and it might tickle, because Yuzu laughs.

They bow, they wave, and Shoma catches Yuzuru’s eyes and Yuzuru is always smiling and thanking the audience and it makes Shoma feel strange and happy and thankful, too. He waves with a little more vigor, himself, caught up in the moment and forgetting the awkwardness of it all.

They’re so wrapped up in each other, Yuzuru misses Javi’s raised eyebrow and Javi’s gestures towards the open expanse of the ice. Oh, right. Quad battles.

Shoma catches it, and disentangles their hands to elbow Yuzu in the side, making him huff out a gasp and finally look away from Shoma’s face. Javi must have seen that, because he laughs, loud and bright. Yuzu skates over to him and hits him in the shoulder before hugging him close. The both of them round up on a small girl; Shoma can’t quite place her, though he has definitely seen her around before at competitions, and the girl skates out and jumps a triple-triple combination.

A few other skaters go out to perform one last trick for the audience: Nobu goes, and Mao follows, jumps a gorgeous triple axel and takes a deep bow. Johnny sets up a jump but fakes out into his slide instead, dramatic as usual.

Yuzuru finds his way back to Shoma, stands behind him and places a careful hand high on Shoma’s hip.

“Do you want to go out there today?” His voice is a whisper in Shoma’s ear, soft enough to barely move the hair there. Shoma shakes his head, turns just a little to smile back at Yuzu.

“Do  _ you _ ?”

Yuzu tilts his head. “Not really. My foot still hurts a little.”

Shoma hums, and turns around pushing Yuzuru further back into the group of skaters that are watching and talking to each other. “So, don’t.”

“Do you think they’ll be sad?”

Shoma considers this, but then he considers Yuzuru, who does look a little tired.

“You could do something else?”

“Like?”

Shoma can’t help a grin. “I’d say do a cantilever but I know you can’t.”

Yuzuru makes an affronted noise, but Shoma just talks over him, pushing him toward the other side of the group now, instead of keeping him at the center of it. They pass Johnny, who grins at them, and Yuzuru’s eyes light up.

“I could do my rockstar pose!”

“You could do that!”

And Yuzuru does, as the last skater returns to the group, skates out and falls easily into footwork that looks like his new short, and Shoma feels a pang at the fact that he can recognize this, after having seen the recording a few times, and the whole thing once.

It’s memorable.

Yuzuru falls into his pose, and the crowd screams. He comes out of it throwing his head back, effortlessly charming. His skin shines with the exertion, and under the stage lights he looks, for a short moment, ethereal.

Shoma feels his breath catch.

The audience cheers, screams. Yuzuru comes back, and the group starts moving towards the exit. There is no one who wants to go after him. Shoma doesn’t want to consider having to measure up to Yuzuru when he’s like this: shining, alight.

And hurt.

Shoma can’t forget that. The whispered admission made him feel warm, but the reality of it leaves him feeling cold, breathless for a completely different reason than he was just moments earlier.

***

There is a bruise on Shoma’s wrist, and Yuzuru can’t keep his fingers off it. Shoma didn’t notice before, but Yuzuru must have, has to have, to find that spot with such certainty during the finale.

His grasp his loose and warm and Shoma doesn’t want to pull away, but Yuzuru is stroking across the bruise and it’s tender now that the adrenaline of performing has worn off. He can feel the pressure of each stroke as a soft pull, something deeper than just skin on skin.

It’s strange, and Shoma isn’t used to it, but it feels nice.

He shouldn’t allow this. However blurry the lines are, this is very obviously crossing them. But Yuzuru’s thumb is drawing a warm circle on the back of Shoma’s hand, and they’re sitting in the calm quiet of the shuttle bus, with Javi joking in the row in front of them, and Kanako on the other side, and neither of them are looking in any way concerned, so maybe it’s fine.

There is white noise of conversation enveloping them, and the warmth of the bus, and it’s nice.

Shoma slumps against the window and closes his eyes, but the shuttle rattles a little, and his head bounces. If it was Kanako next to Shoma, he might put his head onto her shoulder, maybe draw his knees up onto the seat and curl up to have a nap for the short time it will take them to cross over to the hotel.

But he’s not sure if he can do that with Yuzu.

They said more, but Shoma is uncertain about the rules of that. It seems like something that should be confined to the two of them, to complete privacy.

Shoma shivers against the cold of the glass, and Yuzu sighs like he’s exasperated.

“Just lean against me?”

He says it in a very quiet whisper, and he doesn’t sound annoyed. He sounds fond.

Shoma opens his eyes and rolls his head to he can look up at Yuzu without engaging any neck muscles. He must look ridiculous but he doesn’t care.

It’s like always: Shoma doubts, and Yuzuru seems to feel it, and just proposes an offer that Shoma can’t refuse. The only difference is that now he knows he can say no. And he knows Yuzu means it, no hidden meanings or consequences.

Yuzuru smiles at Shoma’s expression. He lets go of Shoma’s hand to pull him over, so Shoma’s head collapses onto Yuzuru’s collarbone.

It’s more uncomfortable than the window.

He mumbles that, and Yuzuru laughs, a low chuckle that makes his ribs shake so Shoma can feel it where he is leaning against Yuzuru’s side. Yuzuru’s hand returns to Shoma’s wrist, but he doesn’t take it, just turns it so he can draw around the bruise, map it against Shoma’s skin.

Shoma watches him do it. There must be a matching mark on Yuzu’s wrist, and Shoma wants to see it. He wants to map it like this, while Yuzu traces the outline of it on Shoma’s skin. He doesn’t, but he wants to. Then he buries the thought.

He turns his head into Yuzuru’s shoulder, burying his head in his neck. It brings them closer, makes Yuzu slump a little deeper into the seat to accommodate their height difference, but it’s also a lot more comfortable. It turns his body into Yuzuru’s in a way that’s comfortably familiar, and Shoma breathes deep, closes his eyes again.

He leaves Yuzu to continue his tracing, the feeling a soft tickle that isn’t distracting the way the firm strokes of Yuzu’s thumb were. This is alright.

They arrive at the hotel just when Shoma is fully relaxed, slumped against Yuzu in a way that probably means he’s transferring too much weight onto him, but Yuzu isn’t complaining. At some point, he just brought his arm around Shoma’s back and held him there.

Shoma doesn’t want to move like he doesn’t want to leave his bed in the mornings. This is too nice to let go off.

Kanako laughs at him when the bus stops and everybody gets off and Yuzu can’t motivate Shoma to get off him.

“He does that,” she laughs, and softly thumps Shoma on the head with her hand. Shoma grumbles.

“It means he trusts you.”

Shoma’s eyes shoot open at that, and Kanako giggles. She’s devious. Yuzuru looks at her, and then down at Shoma, and grins.

“I see,” he says, like a secret has been revealed to him.

Like Shoma hadn’t basically told Yuzuru this before the shows went on break, when he admitted that none of this was a performance. Or when he hugged Yuzuru goodbye, which was not a hug goodbye, but that’s beside the point.

Yuzuru tries to pull Shoma up, and Shoma lets him, if only to escape Kanako’s curious eyes. He disentangles himself from Yuzu after, though.

They trail the rest of the group, walking a little slower than necessary until Kanako groans and speeds up. She’s too curious to miss out on whatever everybody else is discussing.

She throws Shoma a look he can’t decipher. He’ll be facing questions tomorrow, maybe. Or maybe she won’t ask. Maybe she’ll accept his curiosity of this new friendship as an excuse. It isn’t a lie but it isn’t just friendship.

They are on their own in the elevator, having idled until everybody else had split up and moved on. The silence between them in comfortable.

Shoma reaches out to take Yuzu’s hand, tangles his fingers until they’re palm to palm and Yuzuru is smiling.

There is a bruise that matches Shoma’s on Yuzuru’s wrist. He looks at it, for a moment.

The bruises were their boundaries, but he doesn’t know where the boundaries are between what soulmates are meant to be and this.

He follows Yuzu to his hotel room, pulls the door shut behind him.

They could do what they have been doing: sit down and talk about anything and everything. Play a game, text their friends, watch a movie or a TV show or even just listen to music on Yuzuru’s headphones while Yuzu explains the differences in sound quality and make.

Shoma could probably just walk over to Yuzuru’s bed, fall into it and fall asleep and Yuzu would let him. He could maybe cuddle up to him, wrap himself around Yuzu and stay there.

Instead, Shoma takes a step forward, leans up, and presses his mouth against Yuzuru’s. It’s not perfect, because Shoma can’t quite reach, just catches Yuzu’s bottom lip between his. 

There’s a breath, a span of time in which neither of them moves, as if scared to break the moment.

Then Yuzuru moves a step back.

“What are you--?”

Shoma tilts his head.

“I’m kissing you.”

“Oh,” Yuzuru nods like that has actually cleared anything up, like Shoma didn’t just state the obvious in the driest way possible, like there isn’t a thousand ways this could go sideways.

But he wants this.

Yuzuru slumps back against the wall, but there’s a hand on the back of Shoma’s head that pulls him closer, so he steps between Yuzu’s legs and close to his body, and kisses him again.

This time, Yuzu melts into it so they line up just right, with a soft sigh, head leaning back against the wall. Shoma brings his hands up to frame him, his shoulder and his jaw. 

He pulls away, breath shuddering, and kisses him again, and again, soft and shallow and containing so much. Yuzu just pulls him closer, until they’re chest to chest and hip to hip and Shoma can deepen this kiss, pressed up against Yuzu like this.

He can trust this, every reaction a yearning, and Yuzu following every suggestion Shoma makes.

***

Days pass like this, an easy routine of food, practice, shows, and in between, moments of laughter with friends. A few more stolen kisses, too. There is, always, a low thrum of uncertainty, when they’re alone, everything that they don’t talk about pushed back so they can enjoy each moment as it evolves. 

It’s a routine Shoma grows fond of, had grown fond of before anything with Yuzu had even happened. He understands, now, why some people can’t wait to retire and do this all the time. Shoma kind of wants to retire and just do this, but only if the rest of the group would do the same.

As it is, they are all going to part in only a few more weeks: There is one more show here, and then they move on to practice a new version of the show for a few days, some of them will do some tourist stuff in the days in between, others will head off to stay with friends and family, before the last set of shows truly begins.

Shoma plans to just stay in the hotel and make use of the ice time they have at the arena that is booked for the show. He knows Yuzu is planning the same.

It feels like time has passed in a heartbeat. It feels like Shoma has been doing this tour for years rather than a few weeks, like he’s crammed a lifetime of experiences into seconds.

He sighs.

Yuzu laughs, on his other side.

“Why are you so wistful?”

“I can’t believe it’s almost over.”

Yuzuru looks at Shoma, long and careful and searching, somehow, and Shoma can feel himself blush. Yuzu’s fingers tangle with his, for just a moment.

“Yeah, neither can I. But there is always next year?”

Then they go out to perform. The finale is a rush, everybody is electrified, excited. Shoma feels his spotlight moment, and when the group comes together, after their final bows, he lets himself be pulled into hugs by all the people who are heading home, the guest skaters and those who won’t stay to practice.

There is no quad battle: instead, everybody just hugs it out, feeling the end of this experience approaching fast, already sentimental.

Yuzu moves on from Nobu to catch Shoma around the waist, pull him in close. Shoma wraps his arms around Yuzu’s neck to hug him back. It’s not anything more than what he’d allow anyone else, Shoma things. So that’s alright. 

“Aww,” Mao says, from the side. “I’ve seen this before!”

Shoma hasn’t seen her around a lot, she wasn’t there for a few shows and only rejoined this one as a guest act. The last time they spoke was when Shoma said goodbye.

The last time they really spoke, was when Mao had brought him home after that failed club night, after she had pulled him off Yuzuru and tucked him into bed.

“What?” Yuzu says, turning to her.

“You almost look like soulmates, it’s adorable!” Mao coos. “You’ve grown so close!” 

Shoma freezes, caught in her words like a fly in a web. A deer in headlights, perhaps. Yuzuru pulls him back into his side. 

He laughs, shakes his head like it’s nothing. Like that was a joke. And he’s right to: by laughing it off he’s keeping their secret. Treating a comment like that as a joke means that they aren’t giving anything away. Nobody knows that it wasn’t a joke.

But it wasn’t.

Mao stated the obvious, and she meant well, but… 

They  _ have _ grown close. Shoma was meant to keep Yuzuru at arm’s width, but he decided not to. He decided that he doesn’t need Yuzuru to give him space and had ended up too close. 

Closer than they should be, if they want to stay friends.

Something cold spreads in Shoma’s belly, pulls him away from Yuzu, who still has his arm wrapped around Shoma’s waist.

If they look like soulmates, and they behave like soulmates, then what are they. Where is the line between what Shoma is feeling and what a soulmate might feel?

He doesn’t know.

He just doesn’t know.

***

It’s too easy to disentangle himself from Yuzu, smile and evade and skate over to someone else to hide. It’s easy to go back to his hotel room and just fall into bed and try to fall asleep.

It’s harder to ignore the hum of his phone, the message blinking there. But if Shoma pretends he’s asleep, nobody will know better. It is a regular occurrence, after all.

***

He barely catches the shuttle the next day. Kanako saved Shoma a seat, like he asked her to. There is a seat open next to Yuzuru but it’s further back, so Shoma pretends not to have seen and just falls into the place and leans back.

He closes his eyes, and tries to ignore that they are burning.

He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to fix this, or if there is a way to fix this at all or if this will just end up hurting more than he’d imagined possible.

People can’t think that they are like soulmates, because that is simultaneously too close to the truth and too far from it. They aren’t soulmates, but they are…

Whatever it is that they are. Something undefinable, something like friends but more, because distancing himself from his friends has never been this hard for Shoma. He needs his space sometimes, like he needs his space right now, and usually it’s easy.

Being on his own used to be simple but now it is anything but. 

He doesn’t even sit on his own, like he would have before. 

Shoma doesn’t know how, but he must slip into sleep, because Kanako shakes him awake when the shuttle stops and they have to change onto the train. It can’t have been more than twenty minutes, but Shoma feels bleary.

He blinks his eyes open, grabs his backpack and his three suitcases and pushes them towards the gaggle of familiar faces that are waiting to board the train.

Yuzuru comes up next to him, pushing his own tower of suitcases.

“Hey,” he says, hesitant. “Are you alright?”

Shoma looks at him, and tries to school his expression into something like a smile. It’s difficult, because looking at Yuzuru makes him want to smile for real: he looks as tired and wiped out as Shoma feels, and he’s still a comfort.

Shoma nods. Yuzuru doesn’t really deserve this: he’s done nothing unexpected, nothing he hadn’t warned Shoma of. The deal was friendship, and Shoma changed the meaning of friendship. Whatever Shoma’s feelings for Yuzuru may be, and he isn’t sure he wants to truly examine that particular mess, they aren’t really the problem right now.

Shoma just feels hurt, and he has to figure out how to fix that, and Yuzuru isn’t making it easy. It’s not his fault, really, but...

“I’m fine,” Shoma says, as if to reaffirm his nod. Yuzuru just keeps looking at him.

“You didn’t answer your phone last night.”

Yuzuru says it like he hates that he has to. Shoma meets his eyes and all that he finds there is concern. Yuzuru isn’t angry. It almost seems like he’s incapable of that emotion, unless it is directed inwards.

“Yes.” Shoma admits. He shrugs. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t offer an explanation or an excuse, but when Yuzuru reaches out, Shoma involuntarily takes a step back.

Yuzu’s hand hovers awkwardly between them, where he wanted to cup Shoma’s elbow.

Shoma wants to reach out and meet it, but he doesn’t. 

Mao’s words echo in his head. Almost like soulmates. 

But they aren’t. 

But then why does he feel like this? 

Whatever they’ve been doing, it’s too much. Shoma can’t—

“I’m sorry,” he brings out, “I have to--” 

He gestures, roughly, in a direction that is just away. 

“Oh,” Yuzuru says. “Did I do--?”

“No,” Shoma interrupts, and he can’t seem to fix his eyes on anything but the concrete of the station floor. “No, it’s not… I just. Need to think. I can’t think, when you’re—“

When he’s around, when he’s right there, making things too easy and too difficult and making Shoma want things he is not supposed to have. Things that Yuzuru explicitly doesn’t want Shoma to have.

Kisses, like bruises, mean nothing in isolation.

A kiss is just that. Shoma needs to remind himself of that. And to remind himself, he needs to get away from Yuzu, gain some perspective on what he is doing. What he is feeling. 

“Oh,” Yuzu says, again. He sounds hollow.

Shoma risks a glance up, and he hates it. Yuzuru looks carved open, eyes wide with confusion and hurt, too. He looks like he’s trying to understand and cannot, and Shoma wants to be able to reach out and make it okay but he can’t.

There were rules for this and he doesn’t know how to deal with anything anymore and he can’t explain it, either. He wouldn’t be able to explain it well enough for Yuzu to understand.

Shoma reaches out, anyway. His hand covers Yuzu’s on the handle of his suitcase, for just a second. Shoma doesn’t look up to see whether this is comfort or not, to Yuzu.

It’s comfort to Shoma, even if it feels like something final.

Then they are boarding.

***

Shoma wakes up from his nap blurrier than ever. He’s meant to go to practice, but he can’t force his body to move. His bed is soft, and warm, and if he stays here, he won’t have to face the world and all the complicated feelings that existing in the world involves.

He loves the ice, but he can’t face it right now. But Mihoko won’t be happy to know that he skipped an entire practice session to lie in bed, not so close to the beginning of the season, so Shoma settles on finding a dance room instead. He can run through his warm-up, his stretches, and run through his choreography and the few ballet steps he remembers there, without facing anyone.

He wonders if anyone else is going to be using that room. All he wants is to be alone, right now.

He takes his phone, and finds the mirrored room in the basement of the hotel, where the staff at the front desk had pointed him. There is a swimming pool, as well, but Shoma doesn’t want to use that. He wants the empty expanse of polished wood against his bare feet, and maybe he’ll be able to lose himself in his music for a bit. 

He hasn’t done this in a while. In a way, he hasn’t had to. He’s found other outlets for his emotions, in the past weeks. He hasn’t felt this confused since he left training camp in the US. He hasn’t felt this unsettled since the first day of show practices, when Yuzuru had approached him and proposed friendship.

Shoma sets up his music, takes off his socks. There is a patchy green shadow of a bruise on one of his feet, but it is easy enough to ignore. He falls into position, easy stretches to warm up.

They’ve come so far, Yuzu and him. And then they rushed right past friendship into something more complicated and that was--

Shoma spins. His body feels good, loose and easy in a way he hasn’t felt in a while. If he was wearing skates, he’d practice one quad after the other, but as it is, he just jumps in the air and spins as much as he can.

Jumps, spins, lands.

The music loops, and there’s sweat dripping down Shoma’s chin and he realises he has lost himself in the movements, the repetitiveness of the practice routine he’s learned in Chicago. It’s good. He doesn’t know how much time has passed.

The music loops, and Shoma realizes that he could do a run-through, that the room is almost big enough to do half his step sequence, add an extra turn, and do the other half. Everything else he can adjust as well.

He moves. The intensity of the music builds, and Shoma matches it, loses himself in it. He lets himself feel it: desperation, anger, volume, insanity.

Always insanity, so Shoma jumps like he’s crazy, like he has nothing to lose.

Let’s go crazy, like an invitation. One crazy person to another: let’s do this together. The realization hits him, a few days late, and it’s a dumb mistake.

It’s sweat on polished wood and bare feet and Shoma slips on his landing and he can’t breathe, the air knocked out of him.

He lies there, flat on the wood floor, and tries to suck air into his lungs but they won’t work, empty and burning and helpless.

His hip smarts, but his wrist is worse. There’s an angry twinge to the ache, like something popped inside of it.

If Shoma could breathe he would look at it, but he can’t. He rolls onto his side and curls up, and slowly, slowly, air returns.

He sucks in one breath, and holds it.

Then another.

Another.

He doesn’t know how long he lies there, but it must be long enough for his short program music to run through as well.

The music loops. Shoma gets up slowly, leaving his weight off his wrist, which twinges when he turns it, but not bad enough for Shoma to be afraid of a sprain. He’s had worse.

His hip, on the other hand, already shows the tell-tale red dots that foreshadow serious bruising. He lets the waistband of his trousers snap back over it, and winces at the pain.

The rest of him is fine: his knees hurt from the exertion, and his ankles too, just a little, but that’s all as it should be. He’s been careful, after he hurt himself last time, to take it a little easier. Mihoko has been paying attention when Shoma got too intense, to keep him in line a little.

She’s not here now, so she won’t know that Shoma failed to take it easy. Falls happen, they are just part of the sport, but Shoma should know better than to fall so stupidly. He’s learned how to catch himself better than that.

By the time Shoma has made it back to his room, the bruise on his hip has unexpectedly turned into several dark spots, rather than one big one. It’s a relief, because they will fade faster.

Official practice times must be over as well.

Shoma showers one handed, using his hurt wrist only gingerly, and collapses back into bed.

Tomorrow, he will have to take advantage of the ice time.

His phone buzzes where he left it in his bag, and Shoma leans over the bed to fish it out.

“What just happened,” Yuzuru messaged. Then, in rapid succession: “Please tell me you’re alright?” 

“Please answer.”

No emojis.

“I’m fine,” Shoma texts back, automatically. He doesn’t realize that he’s been avoiding Yuzu, until he ready back the first part of his message. 

He closes the app, so it won’t ring anymore. 

***

There is a knock minutes later, entirely unexpected. 

It’s a hesitant knock, softer, quiet enough that Shoma could ignore it.

He gets up to open the door. 

Whatever Shoma had thought about Yuzuru not being capable of anger, before? He was wrong. 

He looks intense, and sharp in a way that Shoma only knows from performances. It’s an odd expression for him to have when looking at Shoma. It makes Shoma want to hide, or wrap himself around him or hide with him. 

Instead, Shoma opens the door wider. He doesn’t know what else to do. 

Yuzuru comes in, and then he stands there, just looking at Shoma. It feels like he’s trying to look through him, or to the center of him, truly figure Shoma out. It also feels like he doesn’t quite believe that Shoma is there, whole and fine. 

Shoma should feel uncomfortable, being scrutinized like this, but there is nothing about him Yuzuru hasn’t seen before.

“Tell me you’re alright,” Yuzuru says, after a moment of silence that begs to be broken.

Shoma’s head snaps back up, from where his gaze has slid to the floor. He meets Yuzuru’s eyes and they are wide, worried.

“What?” Shoma finds himself asking.

“Tell me you didn’t hurt yourself today.” Yuzuru says. His voice is a strange, brittle thing. Terse.

He saw the bruises. He was looking for bruises, even. Maybe. 

“Did you--?”

Shoma doesn’t finish the sentence, and Yuzuru is already nodding.

“I saw. And you weren’t at practice today, so I thought… I thought something serious had happened.”

“But--” Shoma starts, and Yuzuru interrupts him before Shoma can figure out what he’s even trying to say.

“Just tell me. Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Shoma says, and there’s a tense, tight feeling building in his chest. It’s irritation, perhaps, frustration. “Yes, I’m fine but why do you. Why are you asking?”

“Because I worried?”

“Yes,” Shoma finds himself answering, staring up at Yuzuru. “I know that.”

Yuzuru stares back, like he doesn’t understand what Shoma is talking about.

They aren’t meant to use the bruises like this.  

There was a line, there. That was the line, that  _ is _ the line. 

“What happened?” Yuzuru asks, and it’s like all anger bleeds out of him. “Yesterday, what happened?” 

Shoma drops back onto his bed, and Yuzuru just keeps talking like he has to clarify, like Shoma isn’t preparing to tell him. Somehow. This was going to happen, but Shoma had hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. 

“We were ok, you  _ kissed _ me, and suddenly you’re pulling away again,” Yuzuru says, and his voice is terse, almost, like he’s holding something back. “Why are you pulling away again?” 

“We aren’t doing this,” Shoma says, and his voice sounds weak in his own ears. Pleading, perhaps. “This isn’t what we do.”

“What?” Yuzuru is frowning at Shoma, eyebrows pulled together. He looks so confused, like he really doesn’t understand.

Shoma doesn’t want to explain. Shoma shouldn’t have to explain this to Yuzuru, of all people. But Yuzuru sits down like he’s planning to stay for a while after all. He kneels down on the floor in front of Shoma, and just looks at him, with an expression like he doesn’t know what is happening.

“You’ve been pulling back,” he says, again, as if repeating the question is going to make it any easier for Shoma to answer. “What happened?”

“You can’t come here and tell me that you  _ saw _ ,” Shoma answers, and it feels like they are having several conversations at once, here and Shoma doesn’t know which one he is having or how to access the one Yuzuru is having and whether they can meet in the middle somehow. How to make him understand.

“The bruises aren’t something we use.”

Yuzuru shakes his head, eyes narrowing. “What?”

But Shoma steamrolls over him, just keeps trying to get to the point, and he doesn’t recognize his voice, something between irritated because how does Yuzuru not understand, and plaintive, because Shoma needs him to. He needs Yuzuru to remember what this is all based on. He can’t have pushed it all away. 

“You aren’t meant to look at them, to figure me out. That was the rule.”

“Rule,” Yuzuru echoes. “I don’t know what you mean?”

“You said that we aren’t soulmates. The bruises are what connects us like that, so you can’t use them.” 

The irritation has dissipated as quickly as it arrived, and Shoma just feels weak, and helpless and Yuzuru must feel the same, because he’s still frowning at the floor, like the pattern in the carpet will have the answers Shoma doesn’t offer him. 

“We aren’t soulmates?” He says, and it sounds like he’s considering this for the first time, and Shoma just.

“That’s what you said!”

Yuzu looks up at him like everything is just falling into place for him, and his face crumples. For a split second, it looks like he is going to cry, but he breathes, deeply and his face smoothes out.

Shoma breathes with him, in unison. His eyes are burning again, so Shoma presses them closed for a moment.

At least Yuzuru seems to understand now.

“But,” he says, and his voice sounds hollow, “we are?” 

He sounds like it is taking everything out of him to say it. “We worked it out? You said you didn’t need space, that you don’t need me to give you space?” 

Shoma’s eyes snap open. “What?”

“I thought we were… we haven’t talked about it, but I thought we could be--” 

It’s worse than anything Shoma has ever felt before. Worse than falling, worse than a billion falls, worse than spraining an ankle. Worse than coming off the ice after a disastrous long program. 

There was never a line, for Yuzuru. Or maybe there had been, but he’d deleted it from his mind when he asked Shoma to be friends. 

There is a space between friends and soulmates, even platonic ones. There has to be. 

“You said friends! And I know I made it all confusing, but you kissed me, too!” 

Shoma stands up, and it brings them painfully close, so he takes several steps back. If Shoma could leave the room, he would. 

“I did,” Yuzu says, and he sounds like everything is falling apart around him. 

“I don’t understand,” Shoma says, Shoma thinks. “You didn’t want me.” 

Yuzuru takes a step backwards. Shoma is at the door, and it’s like he thinks that if he gives Shoma space, Shoma won’t run out. 

Shoma can’t keep the bitter laugh in. “You looked at me and you said ‘I can’t do this’ and then I had to go.”

Yuzuru’s eyes grow wide. “No, that wasn’t how--”

“I remember it,” Shoma says, and Yuzuru stops. It’s like he’s seeing Shoma for the first time.

After everything they’ve done, for the past week; after working for weeks to get to know each other, he finally sees Shoma. He nods, accepting that it is the truth. Shoma didn’t make that up, it happened, it was real. It hurt. 

“I did.” Yuzuru says, like it’s breaking his heart. Shoma opens the door. 

“But I didn’t mean forever.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the most difficult chapter to write. Tell me what u think about it?


	9. Chapter 9

 

Shoma doesn’t go far, because he’s shaking, and he doesn’t have any of his stuff, and he doesn’t know where to go. Yuzuru doesn’t follow. Maybe he knows Shoma needs space more than he needs comfort, right now. Maybe he also doesn’t know what to do.

It feels like everything in his mind is trying to rearrange itself, like he has to rethink the past weeks completely, or maybe the past season, the past year. So much focus went into ignoring his soulmate, trying to ignore the bruises and yet, always wondering, and now Yuzuru changed the rules again.

In hindsight, it makes sense.

All of Yuzuru’s decisions make more sense, now that Shoma can think of him as somebody trying to get to know their soulmate. Nobody would be so accepting, so accommodating, otherwise. Shoma doesn’t know what’s worse: having been wrong about whatever is between them, or knowing that it only happened because there are bruises and Yuzuru put faith in those.

There’s a low hitching sound, wet and rough and it takes Shoma a good minute to realize that it’s him. He runs the end of his t-shirt over his face to dry it, and tries to breathe. It only kind of works.

Bruises don’t make a relationship. They mean nothing.

They had to mean nothing, because Shoma had to convince himself that he doesn’t need a soulmate to be happy, and then he got to know Yuzu, got to trust him and kiss him and now…

There’s feeling abandoned, and there is feeling disappointed, but feeling stupid is definitely the worst of them. Shoma stands there, barefoot and crying, and he can’t help it.

He just ran out on Yuzuru, and he doesn’t know what to do, and he’s barefoot in the middle of a hotel hallway where anyone could see him, and he’s just spent god knows how long sobbing. It’s kind of funny. It’s tragic, and it’s hilarious, and Shoma is crying but he’s also laughing, helpless giggles that just keep building up and up and up and he hasn’t been this hysterical since he was a small child and he got all wrapped up in his feelings.

He can’t go back to his room, so he goes back to the practice room. It’s familiar, because every practice room is built about the same: there is a wall of mirrors, wooden floors, windows to let the light in.

He sits.

It’s very quiet, with the door closed. It makes sense, for these rooms to be soundproof, if people want to practice in here at all hours of the day. Or night.

The floor feels cold against the soles of Shoma’s feet. He doesn’t have his phone, or he would play music, maybe. Maybe he could start a game to distract himself.

If Shoma had a phone, he would have messages, from Kanako and Keiji, maybe Javi, too. He doesn’t know who else Yuzu might tell. Perhaps Mihoko, if he really wants to make sure that Shoma hasn’t suffered a breakdown or a broken heart.

Is Shoma sad enough for a broken heart? He doesn’t think so.

When this started, Keiji had asked him if Shoma had feelings for Yuzuru. If he could develop feeling for him, and Shoma hadn’t thought so.

He thought he was safe, boundaries well established and secure. Then he started to unlock doors and blur lines and now he’s here.

In the mirror, Shoma looks like he always looks, only his eyes are redder, and his mouth chewed up. It’s not so bad, considering how confused Shoma feels on the inside.

Yuzuru didn’t want him to be his soulmate, but he also thought they were soulmates, or working towards it, with whatever it was they were doing. And it hurts, because if Shoma didn’t know better, he would have said that it felt like that.

Getting to know Yuzuru, growing to trust him, felt like fitting perfectly to someone else.

Shoma isn’t sure if that is a soulmate-thing. He doesn’t think so: he thinks of Keiji, who doesn’t have a soulmate, but who deserves that kind of feeling, and who will have it.

The only difference, then, is that Yuzuru was looking when Shoma wasn’t: at bruises, at Shoma, at their friends. And he’d decided that he wanted Shoma after all. At some point.

For the past weeks, Shoma has been pushing all questions away. He didn’t need Yuzuru’s reasons, because the status quo was established, for him. He didn’t need to know why, when he knew that Yuzuru didn’t want him, but now Yuzuru wants him, and Shoma--

Shoma needs to know why. He needs to know when and where and how and all the questions he’s been silently ignoring to keep Yuzuru suddenly reveal themselves to have kept them apart.

Shoma’s eyes are burning.

He lays his head back, and squeezes them shut, but it doesn’t help reduce the feeling of helplessness, and it doesn’t help Shoma feel less stupid for wanting something he couldn’t have, wanting it badly enough to ignore everything that was wrong.

If bruises don’t make a relationship, neither do kisses. One or the other, Shoma made mistakes, too.

Shoma presses his fists to his eyes until they stop welling over, and then he gets up.

He walks slowly back to his room. There is no guarantee that Yuzuru will still be there when Shoma makes it back. He might have told people, too, about their conversation, about Shoma running away.

Shoma doesn’t want to face Kanako, right now. She would hold him, and try to comfort him, but she would also call him an idiot for not talking to her about it. He knows that, he doesn’t need to be told.

***

The door to Shoma’s hotel room is open when he makes it back. It’s just a narrow gap, but it’s open. Yuzuru wouldn’t have left it open if he had left.

Shoma pushes the door, softly, so it opens a little more.

Yuzuru is sitting on the floor, back against the wall, knees pulled in. He’s facing the door, and when it moves, he looks up.

His eyes are puffy, just a little. His nose is red.

It’s almost funny, that they match. How ridiculous they both must look.

“Hey,” Shoma says, croaky and kind of rough from crying. He closes the door behind himself.

Yuzuru keeps looking at him, hands right around his phone. It blinks, messages appearing on the screen, but Yuzuru just keeps looking at Shoma like he can’t believe that he’s back.

Shoma sits down on the floor where he stands, back to the door.

“I didn’t think you were coming back,” Yuzuru says, and his voice sounds shaky, not rough but weaker than usually.

Shoma shrugs. “Where else would I go?”

Yuzuru stares at him, and moves to sit up, cross-legged. His phone is still blinking like it is going insane.

“You should answer that,” Shoma says, nodding to it. Yuzuru looks down, then right up again.

“It’s just Javi,” he says.

“Oh,” Shoma says.

“Sorry, I told him,” Yuzuru brings out, in a rush. “I didn’t know what to do.”

Shoma shrugs, again. “It’s okay.”

They sit there, just looking at each other, for a while.

Shoma can’t parse him, anymore. He thought he had a handle on Yuzuru now, his body language. Realizing that they have been interacting on completely different foundations makes Shoma feel uncertain. He just doesn’t know where to start untangling everything.

Yuzuru looks like he is thinking the same.

“Ask me something,” he says, in the end. He puts his phone face-down onto the floor. It leaves Yuzu open, arms to the side, legs splaying. It leaves him looking strangely vulnerable.

Shoma has seen Yuzuru in a variety of states, from silly to guarded, tense and terse and frustrated and happy, relaxed. Yuzuru is usually too self-possessed, no, too self-aware, to look vulnerable. He holds himself like a shield, like his body is always on display and he knows everybody is looking.

Not everything is a performance, Shoma knows this. But the difference is blurry to him, now. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe, if Yuzuru is consciously being vulnerable, Shoma can still take that as something honest.

Here is what Shoma believes: he believes that Yuzuru likes him, and he believes that Yuzuru thinks of him as something like a friend.

“What did you mean?”

Shoma says, wonders almost to himself, Yuzuru’s words echoing in his mind.

“You didn’t mean forever. What did you mean?”

“I couldn’t do it right then,” Yuzuru replies. He sounds calm, now that he knows that Shoma cares enough to ask questions.

“I couldn’t be your soulmate  _ right then _ .”

Shoma nods. They sit in silence. Yuzuru starts fiddling with a loose thread on his cuff, but he ends up ripping it off.

Shoma notices that his hands are shaking.

“Can I ask something?” Yuzuru asks, and he sounds like he is expecting Shoma to say no. But Shoma has nothing to lose. They have fucked it up already, whatever Yuzuru is going to ask, Shoma can’t make it worse.

He nods. Yuzuru’s eyes grow wide, and he looks back at his hands. Shoma can’t look away from him.

“If you thought that I don’t want you,” Yuzuru hesitates, like it pains him to say, “As my soulmate. Why agree to be friends? Why kiss me?”

Trust Yuzuru to find the most painful, awkward part and poke it. Shoma winces.

“I don’t know,” he starts.

Yuzuru’s head snaps up, and he fixes Shoma with his eyes. He looks intense, and frustrated and so sad.

“At first I thought it was just a game. Like a performance, for everybody to think that we are just normal, you know. Friendly.”

Yuzuru’s eyes narrow, and then he looks down, head dropping.

“You didn’t like me at all, huh.”

Shoma shrugs, but Yuzuru can’t see that. “No, I mean. I knew you from juniors, and… Everybody likes you? I had no reason not to try. Except--”

“Except for the fact that apparently, you thought that I just. Refused to even get to know you.”

Yuzuru sounds hollow, sort of disbelieving. “You must think I’m such an ass, to tell you I don’t want to and then propose friendship like that.”

Shoma shrugs, again. “I mean. I didn’t know what to think.”

Yuzuru looks up at him again, so Shoma asks him. 

“Why did you?”

“What?”

“Why did you want to be friends?” Shoma can’t help it, his voice turns the question into an accusation. Yuzuru fiddles with his sleeve again.

“We hadn’t talked since my accident. We didn’t exactly talk a lot before that? And I didn’t… I noticed you, avoiding me, and. I didn’t like it?”

“Oh,” Shoma says. To think, if he hadn’t tried so hard, they might have never done this. They might have just coexisted peacefully, and Yuzuru would never have asked him to be friends, and Shoma would never have kissed him, and it would have been fine.

“I know I wasn’t fair to you,” Yuzuru says, and his voice sounds gentle. “I didn’t handle it right. And I wanted to apologize for that, too.”

“Ok,” Shoma says, like a sigh. It makes sense, in a way.

Yuzuru doesn’t push Shoma on his answer, which evaded the more painful part of Yuzuru’s question.

Why did Shoma kiss him?

Because it felt right. Because he wanted to. Because he already suspected that whatever their friendship was wouldn’t outlast off-season and he had nothing to lose.

Mostly, it was an accident, and instinct, and Shoma doesn’t want to admit that.

He just wanted Yuzuru closer, as if that would convince him to stay, and he risked it all and now it is blowing up in Shoma’s face.

“Ask me something else,” Yuzuru says, from across the room.

He’s leaning forward, watching Shoma intently. There is only one more question Shoma has, really.

“Why couldn’t you be my soulmate?”

It breaks out of Shoma, with months of resentment and questions and hurt along with it and it feels good.

He hadn’t thought he wanted the answer, but he needs it.

He needs to know.

Yuzuru sighs, like he’s been waiting for Shoma to ask. Like the answer has been building in him like the question has been building in Shoma.

“I couldn’t do that to you,” he says.

Shoma can’t help but laugh.

“No,” he says. “It wasn’t about me at all.”

Yuzuru shakes his head. He twitches like he wants to get up, but he just uncrosses his legs, and then folds them back together. Shoma doesn’t move, stuck in his curl against the wall, knees pulled protectively against his chest.

He’s going to suffer tomorrow, when his back and the muscles in his thighs are going to complain, but he can’t uncurl himself.

“It was, and it wasn’t,” Yuzuru starts. “I don’t want to pretend that I’m not selfish, because I am.”

He looks at Shoma like he wants to pierce him to the wall to make him stay, because whatever he is going to say next will hurt.

“We talked about our first bruises,” he says, clipped and clear, and Shoma knew, he knew they were crossing a boundary when they did that, but he hadn’t expected it to be used against him like this.

“If I were less selfish, I would have stopped figure skating once I realized that I had a soulmate.”

“But--” Shoma starts, but Yuzuru breathes, deep, and says, kind of desperate.

“Please, let me finish.”

Shoma nods. This is hard to Yuzuru, too. It’s easier to look into his eyes, knowing that Yuzuru is hurting, too.

“If I was less selfish I would have stopped skating and we would have found each other normally. But I kept going, and you grew up with the results. And then I moved to Toronto, because I couldn’t stay in Japan. And then the accident happened, and then you found me. And I was hurt but you looked worse, Shoma.”

Yuzuru laughs, a bitter chuckle deep in his chest. It’s not a sound Shoma wants to catalogue and remember, the kind of laugh that shouldn’t count at all.

“I was so broken,” Yuzuru says, and Shoma nods.

He knows this. He saw the news, and he wasn’t too young to understand. Being part of the figure skating community, he knows why Yuzuru left. This part he understands.

“Not just then. Before, too. Nightmares, training too hard, trying to prove that I deserved to survive.”

There is a long pause, and Shoma breathes.

Yuzu breathes with him.

This is the truth, because Shoma knows about this. He’s seen this on his own skin, when he still allowed himself to look, the results of countless hours of hard training that Yuzuru left on Shoma’s skin.

Shoma had always been more hesitant, less willing to throw himself into practice in a way that might have serious consequences. He only really started that when he realized he had very little to lose.

Before everything, when Shoma was younger and a little more idealistic, he thought that soulmates share bruises so they can help each other heal. It’s meant to make people stronger, together.

He’s learned that healing is something every person has to do on their own. Other people can help, and support them, but in the end, the body is the body. Everybody hurts by themselves.

He can’t deny Yuzuru this.

“I started therapy, a year after I moved to Toronto. Tracy suggested it, and then she pushed, and then Brian and Javi started mentioning it, too, so I just went to the appointments. It helped, not just with the dreams, but with training, and with living abroad.”

He finally looks up, and Shoma can’t help but smile. It’s a sad expression, probably, far from joyful, but Yuzu’s eyes stay glued to it.

“And then I collided with Han, and I skated anyway, and it was everything I wasn’t meant to do.”

Shoma nods. This is the part that he remembers, watching on TV, then realizing what had happened when he caught sight of himself on the mirror.

Telling his mother, showing her, and then watching her calling the Federation for information on how to proceed. 

“You know,” Yuzuru says, and his smile turns fond, for just a moment. “I was glad it was you. When they told me that my soulmate had found me? I remembered you from juniors, and I knew you were going to be  _ good _ .”

His expression turns tense again. “I can’t know… I don’t know what it was like, for you. To see me like that. But they let you into the hospital room, and I know I looked broken, but your face was almost entirely blue. You looked so young and your face was blue and red and hurt, and I did that to you.”

“You didn’t,” Shoma finds himself saying. “It’s not like you hurt yourself on purpose.”

Yuzuru laughs, bitter and rough.

“I did, often enough, pushing myself too hard.”

And that’s true, but that is something they are both guilty of. It’s the price athletes pay to succeed in their sports, it’s not reproachable.

“So did I.”

Yuzuru glances up at him, again, and there’s that look again, like he’s really seeing Shoma, down to the center of him. Like he’s finally recognizing him.

“I still do,” Shoma revises. It’s not like he’s stopped falling and bruising and hurting. It’s not like Yuzuru has stopped, either. They’re the same.

Something wry catches in the corner of Yuzuru’s mouth. “I guess so.”

It’s not so bad, to hear this. It’s not as bad as Shoma expected, but it hurts, still. It’s like opening himself up, showing off the hurt he’s been carrying around for the past years. But there is… There is so much they have to address, if they are going to talk about everything that is painful.

“I didn’t think you remembered me,” Shoma finds himself saying. “Because you were so quick to reject--”

Yuzu interrupts him with a hurt noise, hand coming up as if to touch, but he catches himself in motion, and just hovers there, awkwardly. Shoma knows he’s staring, but he can’t help it.

“But I didn’t!”

“You did,” Shoma insists. “You said it. That we can’t be soulmates.”

Yuzuru stares at him. “I didn’t think that you’d… I never meant that we can’t be that in the future. I just. I wanted you to be able to choose, for yourself. If you wanted anything to do with me. I didn’t want you to feel like you had to be with me just because there are bruises, or just because I had this accident and we found out right then rather than later, when we would understand everything better.”

It’s simultaneously so attentive and so selfish that Shoma can’t help but laugh.

“So, what, you tell me to leave you alone, and that is going to magically give us a blank slate to start over from, at some point?”

Yuzuru blinks at him. “I didn’t know it seemed like that. That I wanted nothing to do with you. I did, I just didn’t think it was the right time to be  _ soulmates _ or to start being involved in something that was going to take so much time and effort. I was going back to Canada and you were in juniors and we were both so young, and I was self-destructive and I couldn’t put that on you.”

Shoma shakes his head. “It wasn’t your choice to make.”

“But you didn’t say anything!”

“You  _ just _ said that I was young. What was I supposed to say to you? I had to respect your choices.”

Yuzuru stares at him, then he nods.

They sit in silence, again, but there is a restlessness in Shoma’s chest that he can’t quite let go of. Now that he’s started asking questions, he realizes that are a lot more answers he needs.

“Why did you change your mind?”

“What?”

“Why did you ask me to be friends?”

Yuzuru looks up at Shoma like he doesn’t understand that question at all.

Everything he’s told Shoma so far makes sense. It’s not nice, and Shoma doesn’t follow it at all, except he does understand. Yuzuru was acting on self-preservation, and he hurt Shoma, but.

Shoma can forgive that. Shoma has probably forgiven him before Yuzuru even approached him at the beginning of the off-season.

Shoma stops worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth before it can start bleeding.

Yuzuru’s eyes grow soft, as he takes Shoma in.

“You worked so hard to avoid me,” he says, gently, “during the season, and then at the Grand Prix, on the podium, you just looked so scared. I hated it.”

Shoma nods.

“It wasn’t what I wanted,” Yuzuru continues. “It was never what I wanted, but I thought it was what you wanted then. I didn’t know you thought you had to keep away from me.”

Shoma can feel himself blushing, involuntarily. “It was mostly self-preservation,” he brings out, and Yuzuru’s head snaps up to look at him.

“What do you mean?”

Shoma shrugs. “You’re  _ you _ . It had to be all or nothing, for me.”

Yuzuru’s head tilts, eyes narrowing.

“I thought,” Shoma rushes on, before Yuzuru can come to the wrong conclusion. “At the time, I thought it would be easier to keep away from everybody. To keep from getting hurt.”

“Oh,” Yuzuru breathes out, eyes wide, and hurt. “I’m so sorry.”

Shoma shrugs again. “It’s not like it’s all your fault.”

“And you didn’t even have anyone to talk to,” Yuzuru says, like he’s realizing this all over again.

“I mostly tried to forget about the soulmate thing completely,” Shoma says, and Yuzuru’s expression crumples a little. “It wasn’t. I stopped looking at the bruises, mostly, and just. You know.”

“So that’s why you were so adamant about keeping the bruises hidden,” Yuzuru says, like he’s only really realizing this now. “I thought it was just about hiding, I didn’t know… I didn’t know you thought I didn’t want to be your soulmate and that that is why... Oh.”

Shoma believes him, is the rough thing. It would be easier if Shoma could shrug and call this a lie, tell Yuzuru that he’s selfish and cut him out of Shoma’s life. But Yuzuru has no reason to lie, or to pretend. All pretenses have been out of the window for a while, between them. And he wasn’t purely selfish.

Shoma hurt, but he can’t fully blame it on Yuzuru. He’s been hurting himself, by not speaking up. He could have changed everything if he’d just confronted Yuzuru, but he’d hidden.

All this was on offer, and Shoma was hiding.

Shoma sits there, and it’s. He’s built everything up in his mind, and now Yuzuru is taking everything apart, the whole narrative that Shoma has built around them. It’s falling apart.

“I always looked at my bruises,” Yuzuru says, in a tone that is half reverent, half hopeful.

“Shoma.”

Shoma looks at him, and Yuzuru is kneeling up to be more on a height with Shoma. It’s easy, to meet his eyes, even after all of this.

It hits him, then.

What this means.

What Yuzuru is trying to tell him.

Shoma has been wrong, about everything.

“I’ve always looked, I’ve always been thinking about what they mean, and what you were doing, and how every fall…” Yuzuru trails off, hand running over his forehead and messing up his hair.

“I wanted to make sure that you’d never have to look like that because of me again.”

“Even when you didn’t--” Shoma starts, and Yuzuru nods before he even finished the sentence.

It weighs heavy between them.

Everything Shoma thought, for the past years, is rearranging.

It’s dizzying.

He doesn’t know what it means, or what to do with it, or what it will actually change.

It’s too much.

He must look as overwhelmed as he feels, because Yuzuru sits up even more, expression worried.

“I don’t understand,” Shoma says, plaintive.

It’s not hard to admit, when it must be so obvious on his face. Yuzuru nods.

“I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t want me,” Shoma says, “but now you’re saying that you do.”

Yuzuru tilts his head. “I’ve just. You’ve always been my soulmate, I just haven’t lived like I needed to, to take care of you. I haven’t been very good at that.”

Shoma stares at him, the rueful expression on Yuzuru’s face.

“I don’t need you to take care of me.”

Shoma is not a child. Even when Yuzuru saw him as one, Shoma wasn’t a child. If they had talked, then, instead of Yuzuru making a snap decision when he was hurt and overwhelmed, they could have avoided all of this.

“We could have avoided all of this,” Shoma says, and he knows his tone is absolutely disbelieving.

It’s going to take him a while to make peace with that. They could have gotten to know each other, like they have for the past weeks, and Shoma could have had Yuzuru in his life, instead of cutting him out consciously, working around his presence at competitions and trying to avoid him.

“Yes,” Yuzuru says. “I’m sorry.”

Shoma shrugs. It’s not okay, so he won’t say that it is okay, but.

It happened.

It’s everything else that is confusing, right now.

“What I don’t understand,” Shoma says, and Yuzuru nods, encouraging. “When you offered to be friends, what were you expecting?”

Yuzuru shakes his head. “I don’t know. I just knew I didn’t want to spend next season trying to talk to you, with you avoiding me. It seemed like the best option to approach you now?”

Shoma nods, considering. “Yes, I guess.”

He’s still stuck on the fact that all the boundaries he’s build between them, all the rules Shoma has been following, are constructs that Yuzuru doesn’t realize.

He’s never been ignoring their bruises the way Shoma has. He’s been living as Shoma’s soulmate.

“I didn’t think we’d fall into something so quickly,” Yuzu says, hesitant. “But I understand a lot of your behavior better, now.”

“What?” Shoma asks.

“You kept pulling away. Every time I felt that we were becoming friends, you’d just go and hide and I thought I wasn’t giving you enough space so I tried but then you’d be back and it would feel right and I’d want more, and then you were pulling away again.”

“Oh,” Shoma says, and it’s…

He hadn’t thought how that must have felt to Yuzuru. He’d been too wrapped up in himself, in all the rules and limitations he’s been applying to whatever this strange relationship they have to each other can be.

“I was trying to keep it separate,” he explains, and he can feel himself blushing.

“I was trying to be your friend, while not being your soulmate.”

Yuzuru’s eyes grow narrow. “I don’t understand,” he says.

“I thought,” and it seems so silly, now. But Shoma was so wrapped up in this thought process, thinking he could have it all: be Yuzuru’s friend, be more than that, have him and kiss him and keep him in Shoma’s life, while respecting Yuzuru’s wish of not being soulmates.

Now that he knows that Yuzuru wasn’t wishing that at all, it seems ridiculous.

It worked, in Shoma’s mind. It made sense.

“I thought that maybe we could be--” he gestures, kind of, waving between them, where Yuzuru is stuck to one wall, and Shoma leaning against the opposite wall, the entire space of the room between them, “that, friends, and not be soulmates. If I just. Ignored the bruises, we could just be normal.”

“Oh,” Yuzuru whispers. “That’s… amazingly convoluted, but. It makes sense.”

There’s a smile on his face that is spreading.

They’ve been sitting and talking for hours, and it feels like years since Yuzu smiled.

Shoma can feel his lips curl up in answer.

“You know,” Yuzu says, “this would have been easier if we didn’t have bruises.”

Shoma snorts. “Yeah.”

Now Yuzuru knows.

“Ask me something else,” Yuzuru offers.

Shoma has to think, for a while, what there is left to ask.

He knows so much more than he did before. There is so much rearranging he has to do, to make peace with this new reality.

Yuzuru wants him to be his soulmate. Yuzuru was never not his soulmate, has always been reading his bruises and worrying about Shoma and.

The only thing that doesn’t feel right is this fact: if there were no bruises.

“Would you still like me?” Shoma wonders, spilling his thoughts out, “If we really had no bruises, if there was no soulbond.”

Because Shoma has revealed that he does, he would. Yuzuru hurt him so much, when he rejected Shoma, or rather, when Shoma felt rejected. They are bad at talking to each other, even though it is easy to talk to Yuzuru.

Maybe they can get better at that.

But Shoma would want Yuzuru like he wants him now. He can’t be sure if Yuzuru feels like that.

“I think so,” Yuzuru says, slowly. “I can’t be sure, of course. But.”

He hesitates. “Before I knew who was receiving my bruises, I didn’t care. And I didn’t know you very well, when we figured it out, but I knew. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Shoma looks at him, and Yuzu is just kind of staring at his knees, thinking out loud.

Shoma finally uncurls, letting his knees fall to the side, sitting up from where he’s been leaning against the wall.

“Ok,” he says.

“That’s not enough,” Yuzuru says, “that I stopped killing myself in practices, after the accident.”

He sits up, too, as if in answer to Shoma’s change in position.

“I realize that now, that I know you.”

“Ok,” Shoma says, again.

It’s okay. He can’t really expect more than that.

“But,” Yuzuru continues. “I just. If it helps: I want to be around you all the time. I want to hug you and make sure you’re happy.”

He’s blushing. It’s distracting Shoma.

“I think I’d want that even if we weren’t soulmates. Now that I know you.”

“Okay,” Shoma says.

“Okay,” Yuzuru says.

Shoma smiles. He gets up from his spot by the door. Yuzuru, watching him, does the same.

It’s weird, to stand there, after learning so much.

“Can I please hug you?” Yuzuru asks, in a rush, like he can’t keep it in.

He’s three steps away, the room not being that big.

Shoma can take three steps towards him.

He only has to take one, because as soon as Shoma moves towards him, Yuzuru rushes forward, and just holds on.

Arms tight around Shoma, and Yuzuru’s face pressed in the nook created by Shoma’s shoulder and neck, and there’s no space to be found between them.

It feels good.

Shoma doesn’t know what to do with it, for now, off balance and with his arms squeezed to his sides until Yuzuru lets up, and Shoma can wrap his arms around his waist and pull him back in closely, face buried in Yuzu’s chest.

He sighs.

“I still need space,” he says, quietly, muffled by Yuzu’s shirt. 

“I need to figure this out for myself.” 

Yuzuru pulls back, so he can look Shoma in the face. 

It was easier to admit this when Shoma could hide. 

“I don’t like it,” Yuzuru says, and a crooked smile. “But I understand. And I’m sorry.” 

“I know,” Shoma says. 

***

Keiji picks him up at the train station.

“Did you tell anyone else you’re here?”

He doesn’t even just say hello, just offers himself for a hug that Shoma keeps short and sort of perfunctory.

If Shoma lets himself be hugged, he might not let go. It’s better not to risk it.

“I told Mihoko, obviously. Kanako, too.”

“Ok, good.” Keiji sighs. “So… what happened?”

“Can we not talk about it?” Shoma asks, and there must be something in his face, or his voice, because Keiji just nods.

“I have to go to practice in a bit,” he says instead. “I asked my coach if you could come and use to ice time, so if you want you can join me.”

Shoma looks at him, and he can feel his eyes go wide.

It’s too much. He called Keiji, after Yuzu had left, because Shoma needed to go, somewhere, anywhere, and he didn’t want to go home, where his parents would see him, and where he’d have to face Mihoko, who wouldn’t be too pleased with Shoma’s choices.

Keiji offered his living room without hesitating. And now he’s offering this, too.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?”

Keiji shakes his head, smiles. “Nah. It’ll be good, my coach is going to use you as an example for bad jumping technique.”

It makes Shoma snort. “If it works, it works.”

Keiji shrugs. “True, but still.”

They go out onto the ice. There are quite a few skaters, a lot of children just here to have fun with their parents, but there is a corner carved out for them, a side of the rink. Shoma leaves Keiji there, talking to his coach, and joins everybody else.

It’s busy, and he has to be careful, because there are quite a few slow skaters, learners who are unpredictable and might fall over at any moment. It’s fun to test his abilities like this, skate past them smoothly, plan his route and pepper it with transitions that look flashy and fun.

People notice him, after a while, and start watching. It clears the middle of the ice, so Shoma can set up a jump in the empty space.

It’s just a triple Sal, nothing too fancy, but a group of small girls cheers and claps, and when Shoma returns to the rounds, he sees a few kids skate into the middle to try and copy.

He forgets, for a little bit, everything else, and just loses himself in the skating, in the crowd. It’s different than practice, even with other people on the ice with him, and it’s completely other to performing, be that in shows or competitions.

It reminds him of his childhood, instead, of setting foot onto the ice as a small child, and then, later, chasing Mao, meeting Kanako, rushing around the rink building speed and grace. Leaning his first jumps and falling, falling, falling, painful and frustrating. But he didn’t want to stop.

Even when it hurt, he didn’t want to stop.

Maybe that’s really what connects him to Yuzuru, he thinks, when there’s sweat running down his face, and his thighs are burning, and he feels a dozen children staring at him every time he sets off into a jump or spin or step sequence, dancing around them.

Pushing through what hurts to get to what they want.

So maybe it hurts right now, a strange mix of regret and betrayal and the sting of misunderstanding.

Maybe he can push through that, as well.

Shoma sees a kid fall over, maybe seven or eight, small enough that falling doesn’t really hurt all that much, and has to laugh when the child just starts screaming and gets straight back up and starts doing it again.

He sets off into a triple axel, when the path clears for it. His landing is a little tight, but it’s good. It feels right.

***

Keiji’s coach did not use Shoma as an example. Keiji’s coach barely acknowledged Shoma’s presence, focused on getting Keiji to run through his program clean.

When they get home, take-out in plastic bags around their wrists, Keiji collapses on his couch.

Shoma’s sauce stain is still right there.

“Can I tell you about it?” Shoma asks him, with his jacket still on. Keiji looks up at him from where he’s sprawled out, and laughs.

“I thought you would never. Kanako has been bothering me all day, I have twenty unread messages that are all ‘is shoma ok’”

“Oh,” Shoma says. He pulls out his phone, and yes. He has a few messages more than Keiji. He texts her back, a quick, “I’m good, I promise I’ll talk to you when I’m back.”

Keiji laughs at him, just a little, when Shoma looks back up.

“Did you text Yuzu back, too?”

Shoma shrugs. “I don’t know what to say yet.”

Keiji smiles at him, kind, and gentle, and a little impatient around the edges, maybe. So Shoma tells him everything. When their friendship turned into something that felt real, how that turned into something else entirely that Shoma can’t quite put into words yet. The kisses. The confession.

The fact that Yuzuru has been treating Shoma as his soulmate, when Shoma has been trying to be anything but.

Why Yuzuru said what he said.

“It makes sense,” Keiji says, slowly. “I mean. I don’t think he did the right thing? Leaving it like that, for so long, and just expecting everything to fix itself…”

There’s a pause. Shoma waits, takes another bite of his food. It’s very salty. There is bell pepper in his rice, and Shoma has to pick it out piece by piece.

“I kind of understand why he did it, even if I don’t like what he did,” Keiji continues. “Like, wanting to be better? For you? And wanting you to be an adult and actually decide what you want? I understand him, in that regard.”

“Hmm,” Shoma nods. “I know. I thought you would.”

“I thought he was insane,” Keiji laughs, “When he skated on that sprain, with a concussion. I thought he was going to die.”

“Yeah,” Shoma says. “I thought so, too.”

“I know,” Keiji looks at him. “When I was having doubts, you said something to me, about that. It helped me reconsider. I never really said thank you, for that.”

Shoma can feel himself blush, a little, in embarrassment. He’d been so upset at the thought of Keiji just disappearing from skating. But he’s glad. He’s glad that Keiji wants to compete for more. 

“So you’re not thinking of retiring?”

Keiji laughs. “No. Not yet, at least.”

“Good.”

They continue playing the other game, the one in which Keiji has a very unfair advantage due to a soulmate that they had abandoned during Shoma’s last visit. After Shoma dies three times and has to reset to the last safe point, Keiji groans and pauses the game again.

“It’s still bullshit,” he says, groaning louder.

Shoma laughs, a little. There’s nothing like a shitty representation of soulmate relationships to get Keiji ranting. For someone who is usually so even keeled and quiet, Keiji does enjoy the occasional political rant; it’s hilarious to Shoma.

But Keiji just keeps groaning, and Shoma can’t help but laugh at him, every time Keiji starts making upset noises about the narrative of the game and pausing it again and again. 

They go quiet, after a while, just watching the screen flicker.

“Do you know what you want to do, about Yuzu?” Keiji asks him, into the silence.

Shoma shrugs.

“I don’t know. I mean…” He turns to Keiji, so he can look at him. It would be easier to talk about this without looking at him, maybe, but Shoma wants to see Keiji react.

“I know I like him,” Shoma says. Keiji nods, face impassive. “When you asked me, before, if I could have feelings for him…”

“You do,” Keiji says, like it’s a fact. Non-debatable. “You did, then, too, but I don’t think you wanted to think about it very much.”

“What?”

Keiji laughs at Shoma. Shoma’s face must look dumbstruck, so he puts his hands to his cheeks, rubs his nose just to hide from Keiji’s smug expression for a little longer. Keiji laughs more, like he can’t believe Shoma didn’t realise this.

“Shoma… he literally broke your fragile little heart and you still wanted to pretend to be his friend.”

Shoma groans, still hiding behind his hands. “You make it sound so dumb.”

Keiji shakes his head.

“It only sounds dumb because it is pretty dumb. If you guys had just talked about this from the beginning, you might have just worked it out from the start.”

He pauses, as if for dramatic effect. The TV flickers, blue and white over his face.

Shoma looks away.

Keiji is right, maybe. Shoma might not have given anyone else the opportunity to hurt him again, offering himself up like that. Yes, he’s been guarded at first, he had pulled away, but he’d also let his guard down and started to trust Yuzu. And he had been warned: Mihoko had done her best to keep Shoma safe, trying to make him talk to Yuzu about the soulmate thing.

He hadn’t listened to her.

“The real question,” Keiji continues, arms spreading like a magician, dramatic as only a true figure skater could be, “is: do you want him to be your soulmate after all of this? And if yes, do you want to tell the world?”

***

He stays at Keiji’s for two days, all in all, before he has to go back to prepare for the last two shows. He’s dragging his suitcases and backpack into the elevator of this new hotel when Kanako catches up to him. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” she says, and punches him in the shoulder. 

Shoma doesn’t know how she found him, he hasn’t texted her about his arrival at all. Maybe she’s been hanging around the hotel lobby all morning, waiting. Lying in wait. 

“What?” Shoma asks blankly.

“I can’t believe you made out with Yuzuru and ran off with Keiji and I had to learn about it from Javi of all people.”

“What?” Shoma asks, again.

“I feel so betrayed,” Kanako sighs, dramatic.

Why are all of Shoma’s friends so dramatic. Shoma isn’t a dramatic person at all. 

“But really,” Kanako turns to him, and her voice goes gentle. She looks serious. “Are you okay?”

It isn’t difficult to smile at her, then.

He still rubs at his shoulder, if only for show. But he can also smile at her, because she was worried about him, and she means well, and she’s there for Shoma, when he needs her to be.

“I am, now.”

“Good!” She replies, brightly. “Because you have to talk to Yuzu. He’s been moping. Whatever you guys were up to, fix it.”

“I mean--” Shoma starts.

Kanako turns to him again. She must see something in Shoma’s face that is concerning, because she turns right back to serious. “I know he fucked up.”

Shoma nods, acknowledging.

“I don’t know if I can fix everything,” Shoma says. “He fucked up, but I think I did, too.”

“Can you forgive him?”

“Yes,” Shoma replies, without hesitation.

Kanako smiles at him, more gentle than she usually does.

“Can you forgive yourself?” 

It takes Shoma a little longer. He still feels stupid, about not realising, about not talking to Yuzuru, about just jumping to conclusions and making all his mistakes regardless of his initial intentions. But he does nod. He may look back at his actions and wonder when he might have changed everything to the better, but he can’t go back. All he can do is let it go, and move on. 

He nods. Kanako pulls Shoma into a fierce, tight hug.

The elevator dings, so she has to let Shoma go almost too soon. She smiles, bright and happy. 

“Good. I’m glad.”

She doesn’t help Shoma carry his bag or pull his suitcases, though.

***

Practice, the next morning, is just strange.

For one, Yuzu isn’t there. Javi is, and he waves, jovial as always, but he doesn’t come talk to Shoma.

So instead, Shoma runs through his programs, a few times, not a single one clean, before throwing himself into jumps. It’s fine. He’s allowed.

When he falls on the quad Sal for the seventh time on as many attempts, Javi does finally break.

“Watch,” he says, skating past. He lands it, solid and soft in the knees, and it makes Shoma want to follow suit, to produce a jump just as stable. 

He tries, but he can’t quite get it.

“You know,” Javi says, “Brian, in this situation, would say to go fix what’s really bothering you, instead of trying to solve your problems by creating new ones.”

He speaks slow English, in order for Shoma to understand, but Shoma isn’t entirely sure he did. When Shoma just tilts his head, Javi laughs at him, friendly enough.

“I’m asking you to talk to him,” he says, in slower Japanese. “Yuzu doesn’t always make the best choices for himself, but he tries to be good.”

Shoma nods, but he finishes practice, first. Yuzuru wouldn’t thank him for skipping.

Javi has good timing, or maybe he just knew that Yuzu had switched practice slots with someone else, because when Shoma returns to the changing room, Yuzu is there, taking his shirt off. He’s alone: Shoma left practice a bit earlier than usual, so everybody else is still on the ice. Yuzu is here early.

Shoma wasn’t planning on having this conversation with a shirtless Yuzuru, so he waits while Yuzu changes. He’s quick about it, anyway, and he’s wearing an undershirt, so Shoma catches only glimpses of stomach and chest and arms.

It’s distracting.

“Hey,” he says, and Yuzuru turns. He smiles, hesitantly. “Where were you?”

Yuzuru smiles back. “Kanako said you were back, so I didn’t want to…”

He gestures to the rink. He didn’t want to get in Shoma’s space. Yeah. Shoma is realising that Yuzu, for all that he can be ostentatious and attention grabbing, tries very hard not to intrude when it’s important. He’s an open palm, an offer with no deadlines. 

A few weeks ago, Shoma would have read his behavior as avoidance, as proof that Yuzuru doesn’t really want him. Now, he sees the set of Yuzu’s shoulders, and his steady eyes, and he knows that Yuzu is trying to be good for him. 

“You don’t have to avoid me,” Shoma says. “We’re not…”

Yuzu nods, and waits.

“I know you have practice now, but I want to talk about--” Shoma can’t find the words, so he resorts to a wild gesture, hand waving between his chest and Yuzu’s. “This. About… how to make this work.”

Yuzu nods, again, but there’s a smile that grows on his face, lighting up his eyes and scrunching up his cheeks.

“Ok,” he says. “If I text you, will you reply?”

Shoma nods, smiles back. 

“Then I’ll text you when I’m done here?” Yuzuru offers. 

Shoma finds himself nodding again, and Yuzu’s eyes go soft, smile softer. 

“Ok,” Shoma says. 

“Ok,” Yuzu whispers back, before heading out. 

If Shoma stands by the entrance to the ice, after he’s changed into less moist and sweaty clothes, hidden by the door and the boards and a convenient shadow, and watches Yuzuru whizz around the ice, casually graceful, nobody will know. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter initially titled "Death and Depair tbh"


	10. Chapter 10

There are a thousand ways this conversation could go, and Shoma cannot imagine a single one that isn't awkward and kind of painful. He doesn’t yet know what he wants to say, how to verbalize that tight, uncomfortable feeling in his chest. He thinks about it all the way home.

He doesn’t have a plan. Whenever he tries to visualize himself sitting opposite Yuzu, they collapse together, ending wrapped up around each other. Holding on. It makes it difficult to concentrate on what he needs to say.

His phone vibrates with a message a few hours later, after Shoma has eaten, showered, and successfully avoided his friends to lie on his bed and think about what he can do. What he should do. He feels the phone shake against his skin, and breathes deeply. Feels his lungs expand before he lets the air out with a sigh and reads whatever Yuzuru has sent.

“Want to come to my room?” Accompanied with a teacup. Curious.

Shoma looks around his own room, thinks about the last conversation they have had here, and decides that Yuzuru may be onto something. He rolls out of bed with a sigh.

Yuzuru’s door is left slightly ajar, but Shoma still knocks before entering. When there’s no reply, he goes inside, closes the door behind him and leans against it. The bathroom door is closed, so Yuzuru must be in there.

His room is kind of a mess, in a subtle way: clothes in piles, some on the chair, some on the floor, some in the suitcase. Yuzuru’s costumes are hanging by the window, airing out probably. They sparkle, slightly, filtering the light into cool blues and muted shade. His bed is unmade, just like Shoma’s, laptop discarded on the floor next to it.

“Oh,” Yuzu says, coming out of the bathroom with his t-shirt sticking to his arms and belly, turning a darker shade of grey. “You’re already here!”

Shoma’s head snaps up to his face up, where Yuzu is smiling at him, his wet hair hanging into his face, dripping down his temples. Shoma’s face resolves into a smile in response.

“Do you want to sit down?”

Shoma nods, and at Yuzu’s gesture, hesitantly moves from the door to the only free seating available, which is the bed. He perches on a corner, uncomfortably reminded of the last time they shared a bed. He can feel his shoulders pull up, tension growing between his shoulder blades.

Yuzu runs a towel over his hair, and when he’s done, it isn’t dripping, but instead standing in all directly. Shoma laughs, a dry, heaving thing, but it makes Yuzu grin sheepishly and run his fingers through it, tuck it behind his ears.

He sits on the other side of the bed, a careful, dedicated distance between them. If Shoma reached out, he couldn’t be able to touch any part of Yuzu.

“So,” Shoma starts. Stops. Yuzu’s head tilts.

“Hey,” he says, softly. “Let’s just get some tea or coffee first?”

Shoma looks at him, wide-eyed. He’s been weaning himself off sweet drinks, he doesn’t know if Yuzu knows Shoma’s addiction or just suspected something, but.

“Ok,” he nods.

“I think there is Starbucks nearby,” Yuzu suggests, gently. “Sound good?”

Shoma nods, and they go. It’s easier now that there is a specific goal to their interaction, the pressure off Shoma to have this conversation right this moment. Instead, he lets Yuzuru point him in the right direction, picks a milk tea and allows Yuzu to pay for it due to the fact that Shoma is only carrying his hotel keycard and his phone.

“What did you even order?” he asks Yuzu, once they are out of the shop and he’s enjoyed the first sips of his drink. It’s good. He can feel the sugar already.

“Green tea,” Yuzu says. He looks sheepish.

Shoma narrows his eyes. Yuzu looks suspect. There is a suspicion building.

“You don’t like sweet coffee drinks at all, do you?” Shoma asks.

Yuzu’s innocent shrug makes Shoma laugh. “Then why suggest it?”

Yuzu shrugs again. “I’ve seen you with cups like this. So I figured it would be nice?”

Shoma can’t meet his eyes anymore, all of a sudden. His throat goes tight, so he takes another sip of hot tea.

He nods. “It is. Thank you.”

There isn’t really anywhere to sit, and they do not want to get caught by anyone, so they walk slowly back to the hotel. When they are back in Yuzu’s room, Shoma’s drink is half empty, and Yuzu has discarded his cup on the way. They don’t talk much. The silence should weigh heavy, but instead it’s comfortable. They are both thinking about what to say, happy, for now, to be alone with their thought, just enjoying the option of speaking up but not taking it.

Yuzu opens the door, and Shoma slips through. He takes in the bed, but something in him does not want to sit there, so instead he sits on the floor by the foot of it, leaning against it with his back. He pulls his knees up, balances his cup on them.

“If you spill it, you are calling cleaning services yourself,” Yuzu says, tone light and joking. He sits on the bed next to Shoma, knees next to Shoma’s shoulder, folding himself in half to he can put elbows onto his knees and look down at Shoma.

Shoma takes another sip of his tea. “What do you like?”

Yuzu frowns. Shoma leans his head back against the bed to look up at him. The angle is a little strange, but Yuzu is still beautiful.

“What do you mean?”

Shoma smiles, a little. “In terms of drinks. If you don’t like coffee drinks, what do you like?”

“Oh,” Yuzu laughs. “I don’t know. Water?”

Shoma snorts. “That is not a drink as much as a necessity.”

Yuzu shrugs. “I guess. I like tea? Just not with milk and syrup.”

“Green tea?” Shoma asks, just to be certain.

Yuzu nods. His knee knocks against Shoma’s shoulder, just a little, so Shoma knocks his elbow against Yuzu’s shin, rolls his head back to catch Yuzu’s eyes.

“I’ll remember.”

It makes a surprised smile grow on Yuzu’s face, move from his eyes to his lips, where Shoma’s gaze hovers, accidentally, inadvertently, until Yuzu wets his lips and Shoma can feel himself blushing.

He looks at his knees, instead. Finishes his milk tea, and sighs when it’s gone.

“I’m glad you said something,” Yuzu says, in a rush, as if he has been holding this in for hours and can finally, finally relax now, “earlier, I mean. I didn’t know if we were going to talk anymore, and the season is about to begin and I am going back to Canada, so I don’t know.”

Shoma turns the empty cup in his hands. They are not going to see a lot of each other, until competitions start back up and then they might be too focused or stressed to be together like this.

There are so many reasons this was a bad idea, and yet. Shoma wants to try, at least. He looks back up, but Yuzu has sat up, is reclined on his bed and leaning back on his elbows, so Shoma can’t catch his eyes.

Shoma sighs, and turns, climbs awkwardly up onto the bed until he can sit cross-legged by Yuzuru’s hip, facing him. It presses his knee against Yuzu’s thigh rather awkwardly, but Yuzu doesn’t shy away from the point of connection, and it makes something calm in Shoma’s chest.

It makes the tension seep away from between his shoulder blades.

Yuzu looks at him. Shoma can feel it, the quiet consideration burning against his skin. It takes some effort to meet Yuzu’s eyes. Shoma wonders if it will ever be easy to state his feelings, if he might grow comfortable with the intensity that Yuzuru always regards him with. It’s disarming.

Once Shoma meets his eyes, he cannot look away.

“I wanted,” he starts, slowly, the thought unravelling in Shoma’s minds as he speaks, which is unusual. “I wanted to figure out what we are doing. What we are going to do? With you.”

Yuzu sits up, bringing them inadvertently closer, but never looking away from Shoma. He nods.

“What do you want?”

The impossible. Shoma wants what he can’t have: for them to exist in a vacuum together; he wants enough time to figure all the complicated feelings between them out. The fondness, the camaraderie, the friendship that spun quickly into something deeper, the attraction that makes Shoma want to reach out even now, pull Yuzu in and press his mouth against the hinge of his jaw, perhaps.

Shoma closes his eyes, swallows. “I don’t know.”

There is a draw of warm air by his face that moves away again, before Yuzuru asks, softly.

“Can I touch you, or is that still a no?”

Shoma’s eyes snap open. Yuzu is sitting straight, arms folded in his lap. Shoma doesn’t know if touch will derail their conversation completely, or if it will be easier for him to focus on what he needs to say. In the end, it’s an easy choice.

“It’s ok. I might change my mind again, though.”

Yuzu smiles, a little, at that. “That’s fair. It is your space after all.”

He holds Shoma’s eyes as he raises a careful hand to his cheek, runs his thumb softly over the skin under Shoma’s eye, fingers curling under Shoma’s jaw until his palm comes to rest safely on the side of Shoma’s neck. Shoma sits very, very still, sinking into Yuzu’s eyes as his fingers tangle just a little in the short hair of Shoma’s nape. It’s ticklish, almost, but mostly it is comforting.

“I want that.” Shoma finds himself saying, hand moving to cover Yuzu’s wrist where it is resting against Shoma’s shoulder a little bit. “I want to keep this.”

Yuzu nods, so Shoma continues.

“I want to keep our friendship, too. But I think…” It’s hard to say, while looking into Yuzuru’s eyes, seeing his feelings displayed too clearly, every reaction open. “I don’t know how to make it work?”

Yuzuru’s hand tightens on Shoma’s nape, a reassuring press that makes Shoma breathe out.

“I want to be your soulmate,” in a whisper. Shoma presses his eyes closed. “I don’t know how to be, but I want that.”

He hears Yuzuru release a shaky breath, and Shoma opens his eyes to see Yuzu’s eyes wide and full of wonder.

“Oh,” Yuzuru breathes out. “I wasn’t sure you still wanted me. After everything I did.”

Shoma shakes his head, a little, moves his hand to cover Yuzu’s. Yuzu lets his hand slide down, turns his palm to Shoma’s palm until they are holding on to each other, fingers intertwined.

“I don’t know how to be, either,” he says, smile shaky on his face. “I think we just have to figure that out together.”

“Do you think we can?” Shoma asks, because there are so many things in their way. It isn’t just their careers, but all the reasons that made Yuzu turn away from Shoma in the first place. They aren’t children anymore, but the circumstances haven’t changed. “We won’t see each other a lot, and there’s competitions, and I just--”

“You can’t see it working?” Yuzu asks, eyes intent.

Shoma shifts. “I don’t know.”

There is a beat of silence in which Shoma’s chest grows tight and Yuzu’s eyes grow sad.

“I’m scared.” Shoma says, just as Yuzuru speaks as well.

“We can wait,” he says.

Something in Shoma freezes.

It is, probably, the best option: table whatever is growing between them until they have time and space to explore it, rather than squeezing it into training and competition schedules.

“I don’t want that,” Shoma finds himself saying.

Yuzu smiles, happier than he’s done so far, bright enough to make his eyes crinkle.

“Good,” he says. “I don’t want that, either… and I’m scared, too.”

“What?”

Yuzuru laughs, a little, shakes his head. “I’m terrified.”

“Why?”

“Because there are so many ways to do this wrong,” Yuzu laughs. “And I’ve already made so many mistakes.”

Shoma shakes his head. “You’ve made a few, yeah.”

But he finds himself smiling at Yuzu. “But it’s okay. We’re better for it?”

Yuzu tilts his head, takes Shoma in. “What are you scared of?”

Shoma’s breath stutters. But he has to be honest, if they will figure this out. He can’t pretend not to feel what he is feeling, and he needs Yuzuru to know.

“I’m scared of losing this,” he says, and it makes something twist in Yuzuru’s expression, a small grief that he covers up quickly. Shoma pushes on. “I’m scared that if we get closer it will hurt more.”

Yuzuru makes a small protesting noise in his throat.

“I’m scared that you only really like me because we share bruises, and if we get closer you’ll find that there is nothing special about me at all.”

“No,” Yuzu breaks, voice raw. “That’s not true.”

Shoma shakes his head. “I just—“

“No.” Yuzu says, and it’s like he can’t help himself, helplessly grasping for words and coming up with nothing. He moves in with enough force to push Shoma off balance, wrapping his arms around Shoma’s waist, and pulling him in, like he can force these insecurities away with physical comfort.

“I chose you,” Yuzu whispers, fiercely. “I know you don’t believe it, but I think I did, and I’m going to do it again and again, if you let me.”

Shoma hugs him back, just as fiercely, hands gripping his t-shirt and holding on tight because he can’t find an answer to that. 

It’s too much. 

He buries his head in Yuzu’s shoulder, instead, turns his face against the skin of his neck and stays there until he can breathe right again. It’s a familiar feeling by now, Yuzu’s skin clean and salty and his hair tickling and his arms safe around Shoma’s back.

“Ok,” Shoma says, voice rough. “I believe you.”

It makes Yuzu laugh just a little, Shoma can feel him shaking with it.

“You don’t have to,” he says, hand running a warm circle over Shoma’s back, “I’ll prove it.”

It makes Shoma gasp wetly into his shoulder, something between laughing and crying.

“But you have to choose me back,” Yuzu whispers.

Shoma moves away from him, to meet his eyes again. He needs Yuzuru to understand that he does. He has. Even when it meant ignoring a vital part of himself, he did.

“Yes.”

“Not just because I have your bruises?”

Yuzuru’s eyes crinkle at the edges when he asks, a slowly unravelling joy there, and Shoma smiles back at him. “No.”

“Good,” Yuzu nods, and presses a kiss against Shoma’s forehead.

Shoma tips his head up, a little, when Yuzu moves back, sits up straighter, and Yuzuru smiles down at him like he knows but he doesn’t lean in again. Instead, Shoma has to shift his legs under him so he’s kneeling up, hand on Yuzu’s shoulder to steady himself. Yuzuru’s smile turns into a grin, as he tilts his face towards Shoma, eyes closing.

Shoma moves closer, hand shifting to frame Yuzu’s jaw, and presses a kiss against his lips.

Just one, shallow and soft, before sinking back and just looking at him, watching Yuzuru’s eyebrows pull together in confusion when there are no more kisses, watching him slowly blink open his eyes and catch Shoma’s grin.

He’s beautiful. And he wants Shoma in his life.

“We have to skype so much,” Shoma finds himself saying, kind of helplessly. “When you’re in Canada.”

Yuzuru’s confusion melts into a grin. “We will. And message. And text. And visit often.”

“Ok,” Shoma says.

Yuzuru frowns. “And if you have doubts, or you don’t feel like... like it’s enough. You have to tell me. Don’t pull away.”

Shoma tries to look away but Yuzu frames his face with both hands. His eyes are warm.

“I need to know what is going on,” he presses, and Shoma nods against the firm hold Yuzu has on him. “And if anything changes that is ok, but you need to let me know.”

“I’ll try.”

“Please,” Yuzu says, plaintive, not a question but a request.

Shoma leans in and kisses him, instead. It’s an action he can take right now, and one he is certain of.

Yuzu smiles under his lips, and wraps his hands around Shoma’s shoulders, running them down his arms and up his waist in a way that makes something hot and urging curl in Shoma’s stomach. He moves away gasping, breathless, and Yuzu is, too.

There is nothing certain about their future, but they will try. Shoma will try to keep him, keep this, see what they can become.

There is a short moment in which Shoma feels like pulling away, to save the conversation from derailing, but then Yuzu licks his lower lip and Shoma can’t. He delves back in, hands greedy and tongue greedier, and kisses him until he has no air.

Yuzu’s hands on him are just as desperate, grabbing, and holding on and seeking skin.

“Can I?” he gasps out when Shoma finally breaks the kiss, his fingers at the hem of Shoma’s shirt and wanting to slide under, and Shoma nods, pulls Yuzu’s shirt up, too, for justice, and lets his hands roam over the skin there.

He’s seen this, but he’s never touched like this, finding places that make Yuzu gasp and shiver and kissing him again. He finally gets to press his mouth to the hinge of Yuzuru’s jaw, presses an openmouthed kiss there, and down his neck and Yuzu keens.

He moves back, and finally pulls Shoma’s shirt over his head, leaving Shoma disoriented and vulnerable until Yuzu pulls him back in, kisses him firmly. Shoma overbalances and falls, sprawling to the side and pulling Yuzu with him, over him, until they are wrapped up in each other.

He’s about to lean up, kiss him again, when Yuzu stops, and just looks at Shoma, as if taking him in, eyes wandering from his eyes to his lips to his chest and down, with hungry and seeking dark eyes.

“What?” Shoma brings out, but before he can finish, Yuzu dives in, mouth on Shoma’s neck and then his collarbone, putting firm kisses there and down to the middle of his chest that leave Shoma’s skin wet and exposed to cold air.

It’s hard to breathe.

Yuzu’s teeth scrape, slightly, and Shoma gasps, making Yuzu grin up at him, devious and scheming and oh, nothing good will come from this.

Shoma wraps his hand in Yuzu’s hair, and pulls him up and away to catch his mouth, straining up to meet his lips again, to distract him from whatever plan he had. But before he can, he catches sight of Yuzu’s neck, and, when he pushed his t-shirt over his head, his shoulders.

There are red marks all over Yuzu’s collarbones.

Oh.

Yuzu leans back. “Too much?”

But that isn’t it.

Shoma looks down on himself, at the marks Yuzu must have put on him, that probably won’t bruise but they could, and catches himself thinking that he wants them to. There are no boundaries. He can have this, he can ask for this.

He wants a bruise that isn’t a dumb accident or a careless skating moment or a fall during competition.

He wants to be greedy. He wants to bring blood to the surface of Yuzu’s skin and be marked by it, and maybe that is all there is to it.

“No,” Shoma brings out, in a rough voice that doesn’t sound like himself at all. “No, I want... come here.”

But instead of pulling Yuzu down again, Shoma shifts awkwardly until his legs are on either side of Yuzu’s hips and he can straddle him, leaning up and pushing Yuzu back until he’s sitting and Shoma is in his lap and can kiss him again.

Yuzu’s hands find Shoma’s waist again, spanning the width of him and pulling him impossibly closer.

There is heat between their bodies, and Yuzu is sweating, a little, at his hairline, even though he’d showered only a few hours ago. Shoma is burning from the inside out, pressed close like this and conscious of the effect he’s having on Yuzu, who gasps every time Shoma moves.

He doesn’t know how to ask. He wants to ask, but there are no words, so Shoma just presses his open mouth to the base of Yuzu’s neck, right where it meets his shoulder, and gently runs his teeth over it.

“Please?”

Yuzu nods, hand finding the back of Shoma’s head and tangling in his hair, breath going frantic when Shoma’s mouth reconnects with that same spot and Shoma lavishes over it with his tongue, running his teeth over it, pulling gently at the skin until Yuzu’s hips cannot still and he is shivering, restless.

Yuzu’s thumb finds the same spot on Shoma’s neck, and Shoma can feel him tracing it, the outline of his mouth on Yuzu’s skin doubled on his own. When Shoma pulls away the skin is red turning to a darker purple, and Shoma can’t help but smile and kiss it gently.

“Happy?” Yuzu asks, half-joking but mostly genuine. Shoma rocks down, feels Yuzu tense and his mouth fall open and a shiver runs down his spine.

This feels right. It feels good, to make Yuzu come apart like this, to feel him intensely and closely.

“Yes,” Shoma says.

“Good.” Yuzu says, and smiles up at him. Shoma pushes Yuzu’s hair back from his forehead and smiles down at him.

The bruise is growing dark under Shoma’s attention, and Yuzu’s thumb keeps sweeping warm circles against his skin while his mouth finds the mirror space of Shoma’s bruise on Shoma’s skin. It’s like he’s trying to leave a message, like the skin on Shoma’s other shoulder is an empty canvas to him, and he applies himself there, creating an ache that is containing, seeping deep into Shoma’s skin and into the muscle beneath, making him tense and arch against Yuzu’s mouth helplessly.

Yuzu bites, gently, running his teeth over the spot before licking it and Shoma can’t take it. He doesn’t know how Yuzuru did it, how he stayed so still under Shoma, when this feels like fire seeping into Shoma’s bones, collecting low in his back and tightening there. He lets his head roll back, back arching and hips pressing down harder, body alight with the feeling and moves.

Yuzu’s mouth goes soft against his skin, hands coming down to Shoma’s hips, fingers spread to hold him still against Yuzu’s body and Shoma opens his eyes to Yuzu staring at him, something incomprehensible in his eyes, like he cannot believe himself, or Shoma, or this moment.

They breathe, for a long moment, just taking each other in.

Shoma feels himself smiling, tilts his head, which breaks the intensity of Yuzu’s gaze on him. Yuzu giggles, a bright, silly sound and hides his face in Shoma’s neck, hands coming up to wrap around Shoma’s waist again. Shoma kisses his ear, his hair, and holds him, until Yuzu quiets and Shoma’s breath is steady.

“What are we doing?” Yuzu asks, after he’s moved back, but not before leaving another kiss on the bruise he’s just set against Shoma’s skin.

They match, now. Each of them carries the other, perfectly symmetrical. Shoma presses his thumb to the bruise Yuzu just left, and feels the ache of it, sees the blood rising under Yuzu’s skin, too.

He shrugs, laughs a little helplessly. “I don’t know. But I like it.”

Yuzu lets himself fall back against the bed, hair in disarray and arms sprawling. It’s a bit awkward, now, to straddle his lap like this, when Yuzu can look up and see all of Shoma, his skin pebbling up and folding where his spine bends his belly, his nipples and bruises and the bulge in his pants and Shoma feels strangely vulnerable, curling in on himself.

“Hey,” Yuzu says, and stretched up a hand. Shoma moves into his grasp without conscious choice, fitting his cheek to Yuzu’s palm. Yuzu slides his hand further back, until his fingers are scratching Shoma’s hair, and curling around his nape and pulls, slightly, until Shoma is lying half on top of him, half next to him, stretching out.

“Better?” Yuzu asks, and Shoma can’t help but lean up and kiss him, soft and fond and still a little turned on, but calmer now.

When they break apart, Yuzu grins. “I am learning to read you pretty well, huh?”

“Augh,” Shoma says, and turns his head into Yuzu’s shoulder to hide at least a little. Yuzu laughs, the sound of it vibrating in his chest. Shoma puts his hand there, a warm expanse of skin, and feels it, consciously. Feels Yuzu’s heartbeat, under his palm, chest rise and fall as his lungs expand and contract, as his laughter dies off.

Yuzu’s hand strokes softly through his hair. Shoma isn’t sure how much time has passed, but they will have to go prepare for another show in a bit. He set an alarm on his phone, enough time to collect his stuff and get ready, but he doesn’t want it to ring just yet.

He lets his fingers wander, walk up and down Yuzu’s chest, find the bruise he left, trace a nipple, which makes Yuzu jerk and giggle again.

“Are we hiding the bruises?” Shoma asks.

Yuzu turns, a little, to look at him better. It dislodges Shoma from his shoulder a little, turns him on his side, but Yuzu’s hold on him doesn’t loosen so it’s fine.

“Do you want to?” he asks. “I... We don’t have to, but if we don’t, people will notice soon.”

Shoma sighs, nods. “I don’t want everybody to know. You were right, before.”

Yuzu laughs, a little, drops another kiss onto Shoma’s forehead.

“Which before?”

Shoma tilts up, and Yuzu drops another kiss onto his nose.

“Not the before-before. Just… When you said that there is always something that should remain private.”

Yuzu hums, kisses Shoma’s lower lip, gently, before moving back.

“Do you mind it?”

Shoma shakes his head. “No. I’m happy for this to be just ours for now.”

Yuzu sighs, satisfied, and falls back again. “Ok.”

Then, reversing so quickly it makes Shoma blink and startle. “Wait, does that include our friends?”

It makes Shoma laugh, because Yuzu looks genuinely concerned. 

“Hmm,” he nods. “they already know. Not exactly everything, but. Keiji and Kanako know that I—”

He breaks off, suddenly feelings shy again. He is pretty certain about his feelings now, but it’s still hard to put them into words. The intensity of it, now that it’s allowed, is startling, overwhelming.

Shoma gives his feelings an inch, and they take a mile, leaping and rushing and unstoppable.

“You?” Yuzuru asks, teasing.

Shoma makes a helpless, overwhelmed noise that makes Yuzu coo, hug him tightly.

“Me, too,” he says, instead of pushing Shoma any further on this. “This makes me feel like I’ve won  _ everything _ .”

It makes Shoma snort a little, hug Yuzu back just as tightly.

“I don’t think I’m an Olympic medal,” he says, joking.

Yuzu makes an outraged noise, and pushes until he’s got Shoma on his back and is straddling him, hands on either side of Shoma’s head and face so, so close.

His fringe is tickling Shoma’s forehead, but his eyes are intense.

“No,” he says, and leans down, almost close enough to kiss. Shoma wants to strain up, but he can’t, Yuzu’s weight on him is containing and Shoma doesn’t really want to fight it. He shivers, a little, tension too high. “You are not. I couldn’t do this with an Olympic medal.”

He says it against Shoma’s lips, Shoma can feel the shape of the words, but Yuzu doesn’t lean down and kiss him. Instead, he grinds his hips against Shoma’s in a way that is delicious, and a little painful, and very frustrating, and Shoma makes a needy noise unlike anything he’s ever heard from himself. It makes Yuzu’s eyes go wide and intense and he grinds down again, bearing down and finding a rhythm and Shoma can’t breathe.

He wants to say something snarky but he can’t, he can only strain up after all and find Yuzu’s mouth and open himself against it, and arch his back and seek more, more skin and more pressure and  _ more _ \--

The phone rings, the alarm going off.

Yuzu makes a frustrated sound and Shoma can’t believe it.

Their timing is so bad. 

Yuzu reaches out to silence the phone, fumbling with it, but the intensity of the moment is gone. 

Shoma can’t help but laugh at Yuzu’s pout, a helpless giggle of a sound. He’s still hard and breathing harder, feels riled up and desperate, but there is no time for them to do anything about it. Half of him wants to ignore the alarm, shut it off and forget that they have a job to do. The other half is glad it happened now, rather than ten minutes later, when the state they are in would be much, much worse. 

Yuzu breathes in, deeply, and Shoma can see him containing himself, putting himself back together into something less desperate and needy, trying to calm himself back down, because he is not better off than Shoma. But he has none of the self consciousness that Shoma felt when he was straddling Yuzu, when Yuzu was lying back like this and looking up at Shoma. 

Yuzu just looks at home in his skin, and Shoma should really look away, concentrate on calming himself down, and untangling himself from Yuzu and his bed, and collecting what he needs for practice. But he can’t look away when Yuzu is right there over him, chest and belly moving because he is still breathing kind of heavily, is still hard against Shoma’s hip. He can’t look away and stop studying Yuzuru’s waist, and his arms, and his shoulders and the soft skin of his chin and the glorious mess they have made of his hair. 

It doesn’t help, but it makes something warm and soft replace the desperation in Shoma’s chest. He leans up onto his elbows and presses one last kiss to Yuzu’s collarbone, before using his body weight to push Yuzu over and onto the bed in a messy sprawl. 

It makes Yuzu laugh, and Shoma leans over and kisses him even though he had planned to get up and Yuzu is giggling into the kiss and then Shoma’s alarm goes off as well, and Yuzu breaks away, laughing even harder. 

“We have to stop.” 

It takes them another five minutes to fully disentangle themselves, and then another five for Yuzu to collect everything he’ll need for tonight’s performance. He hurries, but the routine of packing his bag is obvious to Shoma, who doesn’t doubt that if Yuzu left out all of his weird little rituals, he could probably do it in two. But Yuzu has to check his skate covers twice, make sure he has all of his costumes and training clothes twice, fold and refold his towel and pack Pooh without smushing him. 

Shoma stands by the door and watches. He should go pack his own bag and get ready, but instead he leans back against the door and watches Yuzu run his hands over his hair to smooth it down one more time. 

“Come here?” 

Yuzu looks up, and smiles. Shoma reaches out to him, and when he comes, Shoma runs his fingers over the cowlick at the back of Yuzu’s head to make the hair there lie flat. It brings them close enough to breathe each other’s air, close enough for Yuzu to lean down and press the smallest of kisses to Shoma’s cheekbone in thanks. 

The casual intimacy of it forces heat into Shoma’s cheeks. 

“Ah, that made you blush?” Yuzu laughs, and Shoma can’t help but lean up onto his tiptoes and kiss him firmly, just to make him be quiet. 

Maybe he also uses this chance to mess up Yuzu’s hair again. Revenge is sweet. 

Yuzu follows Shoma to his hotel room, where it takes Shoma about half the time it took Yuzu to collect his things. 

“Do you think your costume will cover the bruises?” he asks Yuzu, because he is pretty sure his own will. Maybe it is enough for one of them to hide them away. 

“I think so?” Yuzu says. Whatever Shoma’s face does in response, it makes Yuzu smile impishly. 

“Why? Did you want me to show them off?” 

“No,” Shoma says, but doesn’t even convince himself. Yuzu’s grin grows, and he raises his eyebrows. 

“Interesting.” 

Shoma can feel himself blushing, again. After everything they just did, this is what makes him feel embarrassed? 

Yuzu shrugs, while Shoma stuffs a change of clothes and a towel into his bag without folding anything at all. His costumes are already safely stored in their covers, so he just hangs them over his arm. 

“I think it might lead to speculation,” he says, tone light, “if anyone were to realise they are hickeys.” 

Shoma turns to look at him, and Yuzu is still smiling, but it’s dimmer than it has been all day. 

“And you know my fans,” Yuzu adds. 

Shoma puts his costumes back down, takes the three steps it takes him up to Yuzu, takes his costumes from his arms as well, and pulls him close. Between Shoma’s bag and Yuzu’s, it takes some fidgeting for them to securely wrap their arms around each other, but they manage. 

“Your fans love you. But it’s good your costume will cover you up, then,” Shoma says, quietly. “Less speculation on the internet means less stress for everybody.”

He can feel Yuzu sigh, more than he hears him. Yuzu drops a kiss to the crown of Shoma’s head like he can’t help himself. 

“In the future,” Shoma says, no doubt about it in his mind or in his voice. “We won’t have to think about this at all. Short sleeves, every day.” 

Yuzu smiles down at him, eyebrows raising. “I don’t know if I want a hickey on my arm, but ok.” 

Shoma can’t help but knock his shoulder into Yuzu’s as he turns around and grabs their costumes all over again. He takes all of them. 

Yuzu tries to take his back, but Shoma shakes his head and points them towards the door. 

“No, I have it. Let’s go.” 

He can carry at least this much for them. 

***

Stéphane raises a very expressive eyebrow at Shoma, when Shoma finally makes it to the changing room. 

They got to the shuttle on time, but Kanako caught them on the way into the arena, and there was no escaping her, or her plans for one last group dinner before this leg of the tour disbands, and everyone returns home. Shoma has excuses. He lost Yuzu to the larger fray of skaters talking, and escaped to change already. 

He smiles and bows at Stéphane, who bows back with the casual grace but something curious glinting in his eye. 

“Shoma,” he says, when Shoma turns away to take off his shirt, very aware of the hickeys on his neck and shoulders. “How would you feel about me choreographing something small for you?” 

Shoma pulls the t-shirt he has designated for practice today over his head, and turns around to look at Stéphane. He understood the gist of what Stéphane was asking, but he isn’t sure if he is getting the nuances right. 

Stéphane smiles up at him from where he’s sitting and tying his skates. He waits, patiently, for Shoma to construct a sentence in his head. He doesn’t know if this is an invitation or an offer, he’s not really worked with anyone but Mihoko on choreography, but he knows that choreographers should get paid. 

“I would like that, but I’m not sure if I can pay you,” Shoma says, slowly. Stéphane tilts his head, and considers him. “I’d have to ask Mihoko,” Shoma adds. 

“No, it’s alright.” Stéphane says. “It’s just that I have an idea for you, and I’d like to see you skate it.” 

“Oh,” Shoma says. But he cannot see any downsides: Stéphane is brilliant, and his skating is stunning and artistic, and if Daisuke loves to work with him, Shoma will surely be able to learn a lot from a collaboration. 

“Is that a yes?” Stéphane asks. “If you want to think about it, or ask your coach, that is just fine.” 

He speaks slowly, carefully. His accent should make English harder, but instead it’s comforting: Shoma does not feel as awkward about his own limited abilities. He shakes his head, again. 

“No, no, I want to, thank you,” he says, stumbling over the words. Stéphane claps, looking happy. 

“Wonderful!” and “Do you think we can start at practice tomorrow morning?” 

Shoma nods, smiles. Now that the shows are ending, he would have to work on expression, anyway. Stéphane has given him good advice over the course of their past shows together, has helped him develop his long into something more fierce and commanding than it might have been otherwise. 

“Ok,” Stéphane says. “I can show you some parts already. During warm-up? What I am thinking about. Here.” 

He turns, rummages in his bag. 

“Listen to the song.” 

It starts slow, with wistful strings, before a man’s voice cuts in, strong and a little heavy, but just as wistful. 

“What language--” Shoma begins, and Stéphane smiles, gently but with a little glint in his dark eyes when he looks at Shoma. 

“French. Language of love.” 

“Oh,” Shoma says, and listens more closely. He won’t understand except for whatever meaning carries through the music, the slow beat of it as the male voice unravels, and a female voice joins in, with a slight echo, like something older and known, that makes makes Shoma swallow hard. 

“It’s beautiful,” he says, low. “I don’t know if--” 

Stéphane grins. “Just let me show you. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to perform it. I won’t be angry.” 

Shoma shrugs, nods. He lets the song ring out. Then he takes out his own phone, and copies the name into his browser. The music told him something, but he’s learned not to take the words for granted. They always add another layer of meaning, more direct and unmistakable than a melody offers. 

And oh. 

Stéphane pats him on the shoulder and heads out, but Shoma sits there, and reads, and it’s perfect. He wonders what Stéphane knows, how much he suspects, to choose this for Shoma. 

He plays it again, not the version Stéphane had, but a different one, that is just the voice of the woman, plain and rough and deeply emotional. He stretches to warm up, and listens. Then he hits play again as he ties his shoes and listens, tries to imagine himself moving to it. It’s complex, slow and maybe too grown up yet, for him. But Stéphane thinks it is right for him. So maybe it can be.  

When he goes out onto the ice to warm up, Stéphane catches him before Yuzu can. Yuzu throws him a curious look, and Shoma shrugs, and laughs at Yuzu’s pout. They’ve had almost all day together. Maybe they can go back to the hotel together as well. Yuzu can spare these minutes.  

Instead, Shoma follows Stéphane around the rink as he weaves in and out of steps, softly talking under his voice, sing-songing the lyrics Shoma just read. And Shoma can see, almost immediately, how it will fit together, begins to follow Stéphane when his steps begin to repeat, tries to emulate his frame, the way he holds his head, his shoulders, as he weaves through familiar shapes on the ice. 

Despite the frequent changes of the group choreos, and the rapid pace of the shows, Shoma is still slow to pick up choreography, but they manage a small part of what Stéphane is envisioning in the short warm-up period before the rehearsal begins. 

There is a small break between the rehearsal and the show that Shoma usually uses to eat and talk to the other skaters, or catch a short nap. When Mihoko is around, he usually talks to her about the warm-up, and his performance. 

Of course he upends his routine in his very last days of tour, and spends the time on the ice, with a few other skaters who are running through small bits of routines, or just enjoying the extra time. Stéphane somehow convinces an organizer to put the song on for sound testing, and he begins to place the steps to the music, disrupted as it is by last adjustments to sound and lights. 

Shoma follows him, slowly and hesitating often at the extravagance of the movements, but tracing Stéphane’s steps and listening to the music and trying to understand, to pinpoint what that feeling is. 

Wistful, he thinks. But, no, it’s yearning. Happy, but hungry, and then triumphant and satisfied. 

They take a break when Jeff waves Stéphane off the ice, pointing out the boxes of take-out he has in a bag hanging off his wrist. Stéphane throws Shoma an apologetic glance, but Shoma waves him off. Instead, he skates in a slow circle around the ice, interrupted only when someone gets in his way, and practices his jumps, just to make sure he’ll be able to do it during his performance. 

He’s ravenous during the show. 

He really should not have skipped dinner, but he’d been enjoying the lesson, and then there was no time, and then the show began and Shoma cannot eat shortly before a performance, so he couldn’t even grab a bite in the breaks he gets when other people perform. He skates okay regardless, hunger forgotten when he’s focused on his performance, a three minute rush that feeds his body adrenaline, but leaves him a little weak afterwards. 

Yuzu catches him during the finale, when they are taking their bows. They don’t stand next to each other, this time, but he is close enough to hear Shoma’s stomach growl. 

He doesn’t have to be very close. It is a very loud noise that startles the girl next to him, and Shoma has to apologise profusely. She laughs when he explains, but Shoma bows about a dozen times anyway. 

Kanako catches Shoma when he gets off the ice, pulls him into a long hug, and laughs when she hears his stomach grumble. 

“I know a good place near the hotel, if you want? I’m sure Mao would join us!” 

Shoma doesn’t know what his face does, but Kanako grins and adds: “Or anyone else you want to ask, obviously.” 

Shoma must blush, because she laughs. 

“So you’ve worked things out?”

“...yes?” 

“Wait,” her eyes go big. “Shoma. What did you do?” 

“We talked!” Shoma exclaims. Kanako’s eyes grow impossibly bigger, and so does her grin. 

“And?” she prods. 

“And we kissed.” 

She claps, jumps a little. “Yeeeees, I knew it, I knew it.” 

When she pulls her phone from bag and starts typing, Shoma can’t help but feel slightly fooled. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Texting Mao to bring Yuzu. We are going for food right now.” 

Shoma doesn’t like it, but his stomach definitely agrees. 

***

It is perhaps the most awkward meal Shoma has taken part of as of yet, what with Mao looking from Shoma to Kanako and Yuzu curiously, with Yuzu sitting tense under her curious gaze, and with Kanako scheming on the other side of the table. 

Shoma will have to talk to Mao sooner rather than later. They are not as close as they were as children, but she’s important to him nonetheless. 

If his relationship to Yuzu is going to be something sustained and stable, he wants her to know about it. He doesn’t want to leave Mao out of the loop like this, but he doesn’t know if and when Yuzu and him will even talk about talking about it. 

Shoma wouldn’t know what to tell her, at this point. How would this conversation even go? 

It makes Shoma’s head hurt a little. It’s a little bit of a convoluted mess, and he half wants to turn to Yuzu and just ask him about it. But he cannot, because Kanako is watching them closely, and Mao is watching them curiously, and Yuzu is throwing Shoma glances out of the corner of his eyes, too. 

Besides, Yuzu’s mouth is full of soup, so he couldn’t answer without making a mess. 

There isn’t any conversation apart from the occasional “Oh, that’s good,” but there is strange tension in the air. An expectant silence. 

Shoma stuffs his face. If his mouth is full, they can’t expect him to talk. 

Nobody expects him to talk either way. Probably. But Shoma does not want to risk it. 

He eats more rice. Yuzu slowly, subtly, shoves his bowl over, where he’s left all his pieces of beef neatly piled on top of each other, and Shoma takes them. 

Kanako’s eyebrow rises. Mao’s head tilts slowly to the side. 

Shoma can feel heat slowly climbing into his cheeks, but he can pretend that it is the food, warming him from the inside out. 

Yuzuru shifts uncomfortably, which knocks his knee into Shoma’s. When Shoma looks at him, from under his eyelashes, Yuzu is looking just as blushed and awkward as Shoma feels. Shoma presses back, for just a moment. Yuzu smiles down into his vegetables. 

He eats until his stomach feels like it’s going to burst, until even Kanako gives up. Yuzu has been poking at his meal more than eating it, though it is objectively good. 

He takes another bite, just to make sure that he has made up for the meal he skipped. 

It’s probably ok. He can make up for it tomorrow, too. 

Dinner ends as soon as they have all emptied their plates as much as they can, because Shoma is yawning, and then Mao is yawning, and it is very late. They have practice the next day. 

Last day of shows. 

It weighs on Shoma, a little bit as the four of them walk slowly back to the hotel. It isn’t far, and Shoma wishes, despite the weariness in his bones and the sleepiness that he is slowly losing a fight against, that they had a little more time. 

They wish each other goodnight before the elevators, and it’s weird. It’s weird because usually, Kanako wouldn’t hesitate to hug Shoma, and Shoma would bow goodbye to Mao, and wave at Yuzu. But now Kanako is holding back, and Shoma finds himself initiating a hug, first with Kanako, and then with Mao, who looks surprised, and then smiles big and fond. 

“Thank you for dinner,” Shoma says, and bows after all. 

“Thank you,” they reply, in sing-song unison, before laughing at each other. 

“Good night,” Yuzu chimes in. He exchanges short hugs as well. Shoma looks at him, and Yuzu looks back, and there is an awkward beat before all of them laugh. 

“We’ll see you guys tomorrow,” Kanako laughs, and locks her arm with Mao’s, pulling her to the other wing of the hotel, where their rooms are. 

The elevator dings. 

Yuzu looks at Shoma, and Shoma’s finds himself shrugging, apologetic. 

“I’m sorry if that was very strange.” 

“Not strange, but. It felt a little like a test?” Yuzu says, helplessly, and presses the button for Shoma’s floor. 

He doesn’t press his own. 

Oh, Shoma thinks. They might spend just a little more time together, then. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says, instead. “Nobody said anything at all about anything.” 

“Yes,” Yuzu laughs, “But I’m pretty sure Kanako was analyzing every interaction, and Mao is certainly suspecting something.” 

Shoma hums, shrugs again. “Is that alright?” 

“Yeah,” Yuzu says. Shoma risks a look up at him, and finds Yuzu looking back, kind of curiously. 

It’s very easy to reach out and wrap an arm around Yuzu’s waist. 

Yuzu leans into it, a gentle, warm weight against Shoma’s side. He’s just the right height for Shoma to lean his head against his shoulder. Shoma’s eyes fall shut. 

“Are you falling asleep standing up?” Yuzu asks, disbelief in his voice. 

“No,” Shoma says, but the answer is really yes. He could, probably, considering the fact that Yuzu can probably hold him up or at least lean him against a wall, but he won’t, because the elevator is about to reach his storey, and there is a warm and comfortable bed waiting in his hotel room. 

“Did you even press the button?” he asks, when after a moment that seems to stretch, in which Shoma is just breathing, slowly, synced up with the movement of Yuzu’s chest, nothing at all happens. 

“Hmm, we’re almost there,” Yuzu says, and the elevator dings. Shoma forces his eyes open, and totters in the direction of his room. Yuzu, pulled along by Shoma’s arm, follows, laughs at Shoma’s show of determination. 

They reach the door. Shoma sinks against it, and fumbles for the keycard in his pocket. 

“Hey, you didn’t lose this one!” 

The look Shoma throws Yuzuru could probably reduce lesser men to rubble. Yuzu just laughs, brushes his hand through Shoma’s hair gently. Shoma lets the motion tip his head back. Yuzu steps closer. 

Shoma tilts up, Yuzu tilts down, and they meet halfway. They have not done this often enough for the comfort in the motion to be fully justified, but this is effortless. Shoma’s arms come up around Yuzu’s shoulders, moving over his waist, his back, keycard forgotten. 

Yuzu smiles against Shoma’s mouth. 

“Open the door, Shoma.” 

The keycard is in the case of Shoma’s phone, which is the the pocket of his training jacket, which is in the bottom of his bag. 

It took Shoma two minutes to pack this bag, yet it takes him about ten to unravel the mess of sweaty clothes and damp towel to successfully locate the necessary items. 

He sighs. Yuzu laughs, again, but doesn’t say anything. Shoma knows, if he looks up, all he will see in Yuzu’s eyes is fondness. Maybe some mild exasperation, but that’s maybe just part of the fondness. 

The door unlocks with a click. They stumble in, toe out of their shoes and drop their bags. Shoma upends his, so his stuff can dry overnight, and Yuzu shakes his head at that. But then Shoma pulls him in,  and Yuzu finds himself too distracted to pay it much mind. 

Shoma will pick it up once Yuzu is gone. Probably. 

RIght now, Yuzu is running his hand up Shoma’s belly, and Shoma is kissing him, shallow and soft and breathless. They break apart smiling. 

There is a bed right there, and Shoma wants to be in it. Yuzu and him have a good track record with beds, so Shoma takes a few steps back and falls onto it with a thump and a low groan. 

He can watch Yuzu’s eyes go dark from there, looking up at him. 

Yuzu sits down next to him, though, close enough to touch but not quite close enough. 

“Do you think...” he starts but trails off. Shoma sighs, and reaches out to grasp at whatever part of Yuzu he can reach, which is his elbow, and pulls him down. 

Yuzu lets himself be pulled, manhandled until Shoma can slip his arm under Yuzu’s head and pillow his own on his shoulder again. He can’t look at him, this way, but he can feel Yuzu breathing, which is just as reassuring. 

“I know we are keeping the soulmate bond between us, for now,” Yuzu starts again, sounding more sure in what he wants to bring up. 

Shoma hums, low agreement. This is maybe too comfortable a position for a conversation like this, but he is too lazy to move. 

His eyes slide shut. 

“And I agree with that,” Yuzu continues. 

“But?” 

“I think I want to be able to say  _ something _ . When someone asks me what you are to me.” 

Shoma nods, slowly, movement stilted against Yuzu’s shoulder. 

“I don’t want to pretend you aren’t important.” 

“So what would you like to say?” Shoma asks. 

Yuzu shifts, dislodging Shoma from his shoulder so he can actually meet his eyes. He never lets Shoma take the easiest way out, but this isn’t difficult. 

“I don’t know.” 

Shoma shifts, too. 

“I kept thinking, during dinner, that I wanted Mao to know.” 

Yuzu makes a low, surprised noise, and Shoma shakes his head at him, a little. 

“Not everything. Not really about the soulmate stuff, but. That we’re something else, now. That we’re close like this. I don’t want it to be something that becomes... another secret.” 

Yuzu nods. “Yes.” 

“I don’t want to pretend anymore.” 

Something in Yuzuru’s expression breaks when Shoma says it, and Shoma can’t help but pull him closer. 

“I’m still sorry,” Yuzuru whispers, voice rough. 

“I know.” The reply comes easily. Shoma has had time to think about this, about his feelings, and both of their actions, and he’s done with it. “And I’ve forgiven you. So it’s alright now.” 

Yuzuru shrugs, a disjointed motion when they are so closely entangled. “I’ll probably keep apologizing for a while. I’m sorry for that as well.” 

Shoma hums, nods. It can’t be helped, probably. 

It will take time and work for them to work through it all. Nothing is ever fixed in a few days. But they are trying. Shoma wants to keep trying, wants to work it out. There is no giving up on this thing between them, now. 

Yuzuru pulls back from his hug to look at him, so Shoma keeps thinking out loud. “We don’t have to pretend if we are careful? We can just...” Shoma finds himself hesitating. “Can we tell our friends we are dating? They won’t spread it, and it’s less… invasive. Than telling about the bruises.” 

“Hmm,” Yuzu says, and his hands come up to frame Shoma’s face again. Yuzu’s hands are warm against his cheeks, but his eyes are warmer. “I like that. That’s a good plan.” 

“But?” Shoma asks, because Yuzuru probably has about three alternatives already planned out in his head. He’s given Shoma the space he needed to get to the core of his thoughts and voice his concerns and ideas, and now that he knows them... Well. Shoma can trust that Yuzu has something in mind. 

He usually does. 

It isn’t always good, and Shoma will have to learn to carry a disagreement, to curb Yuzuru and his stubbornness when necessary. But Yuzuru works on giving Shoma the space he needs to choose, so right now, he probably won’t have to. 

“I want to call you my boyfriend? Just... with people we know and whom we can trust, but…” 

Shoma grins. “Well, that’s basically what I said. We are dating.” 

Yuzuru’s face melts into a smile, eyes crinkling. 

“Of course,” he says, and he’s so obviously humouring Shoma now, he can’t help but try to kiss that expression off his face. 

Yuzuru melts into the kiss, lips going soft and open against Shoma’s. The kiss is a slow, shallow thing, more comfort than anything else, and they break it gradually. They are so close that the difference between kissing and not kissing is in millimetres, in the cadence of their shared breath. 

“Does that mean we have to go on dates?” Yuzuru says, quietly, after a long beat of silence. It sounds like he’s smiling. He doesn’t sound like he’s dreading that. 

Shoma blinks his eyes open. He hadn’t even noticed that they had fallen shut. 

“I’ll count video games and naps if you do.” 

It makes Yuzuru laugh, which is all Shoma really wanted. 

He must have dozed off after all, sleepiness winning against the low thrum of excitement that always accompanies kissing Yuzuru. He wakes up a little when Yuzu disentangles himself, and shifts Shoma a little to pull the comforter out and draw it over him. 

Shoma makes a low sleepy sound in his throat, blinks his eyes open against the lights they left on. 

“Are you leaving?” 

Yuzu hums his agreement, drops a kiss on Shoma’s forehead. 

“Yes. Sleep well, Shoma.” 

Shoma finds himself pouting up at him. Yuzu could just stay. But he refrains from saying it. It seems too much, a little too needy. 

Besides, he does not want to get used to it, quite yet. There is a small uncomfortable feeling low in Shoma’s stomach at the thought of getting used to Yuzu taking up that space, when he won’t be able to have it for the next few months. 

They are already so close, so comfortable with each other. Maybe it’s better if Yuzu does leave now. 

He watches Yuzu pick up his shoes and his bag, smiles when Yuzu looks back at him and pulls a silly face because he’s being pulled out of balance by the weight of his backpack. 

He looks tired. Shoma wonders if he fell asleep, too. He doesn’t know what time it is, or how long he napped, curled up against Yuzu’s side, but he’s happy to go back to sleep for a few more hours. 

Yuzu smiles his goodnight, turns off the light, and closes the door with a quiet click. 

Hopefully it is late enough that nobody will find him slinking along to his room with his shoes off. 

***

Shoma makes it to practice early, and finds Stéphane already waiting. He looks too chipper for the early hour of the morning, and Shoma can’t help but smile at him in greeting. He’s excited for today, to learn the rest of the choreography that Stéphane has been growing in his head. He has some ideas himself, movements he thinks might fit. 

Yuzu, Javi and Jeff arrive a little later, when Shoma is already warmed up and out on the ice. There are a few people skating lazy circles, but they keep out of Stéphane’s way which means they keep out of Shoma’s way, too. 

Stéphane has a way of gesturing excitedly in wide, sweeping motions that elaborate whatever Shoma doesn’t catch from his words. It’s different than working with Mihoko, who knows Shoma well and whose choreography therefore always already fits him. With Stéphane, it’s difficult to find a compromise between what he wants and what Shoma feels comfortable with. 

It pushes him, which is good. It’s also difficult. 

He can copy Stéphane’s movements, but they don’t feel like they are his own. 

“Hm,” Stéphane says, taking in the latest sequence. “Go faster, here. This turn: it needs to be fast, like you’re spinning  _ around- _ ” 

He shows it, again, and it looks easy on Stéphane, but Shoma can’t quite figure out how. He makes a frustrated noise. Stéphane laughs. 

“Just try.” 

Shoma does. He runs through it, again, Stéphane watching carefully, chanting at Shoma. 

“Smooth, smooth, smooth, and up! Up up up!!” 

Shoma is trying. 

“Listen to the music, Shoma. Here. This part. It is telling you what to do!” 

Behind him, Javi whizzes past, and Shoma can hear his laughter. He doesn’t think Javi is laughing at him, particularly, but he turns and grimaces at him anyway. Javi laughs and goes through his own step sequence of the day. 

Stéphane, calling Shoma’s attention back to him, demonstrates again. 

Shoma follows, reconstructs, tries to find the essence of it, somehow, in the pattern. There are many twirls, many circular motions. Maybe because Stéphane likes spins, maybe because the song itself is turning in circles, the melody repeating and repeating. 

“Arms, Shoma. Remember that you have them!” Stéphane laughs, “And you are reaching, reaching, and then soft.”

By the end of their practice slot, they have most of the footwork down, the placement for jumps and spins settled. He hasn’t skated a full run-through, yet, and he doesn’t know if he will be able to remember the entire three minutes of choreography, but it feels alright. 

“It will probably change,” he tells Stéphane, a little hesitantly. “When I practice it on my own.” 

Stéphane’s eyebrows rise. “Yes? Choreography like this usually does.” 

“So you won’t be disappointed that I’m not doing it perfectly?” 

It makes Stéphane laugh, for some reason. “No. It’s an exhibition, you are meant to have fun with it, and express the music and as long as you feel like this has been fun? Working with me? That’s fine.” 

Shoma nods, a little chastised. It’s different from working with Mihoko in this sense, too: he usually has her input after every performance, and they work on choreography continually. He’s a slow learner in this regard, and she knows that, and works with his adaptation on her program. 

The ice empties. Even Yuzu skates off, leaving Shoma along. Stéphane stands to the side, picks up his phone from the boards. 

“Okay, you can run through it a few times before we have to leave,” he says, and grins at Shoma. 

Then he goes to start the music. 

The first attempts are a disaster, because Shoma has to think to put all the pieces they’ve created together. Stéphane has to skate along him and remind him, talking throughout, and guiding him. Shoma can’t find that space within the music that makes him feel comfortable and secure in his performance. 

It will come, he’s sure. Once he’s settled with the program, perhaps. 

The third runthrough is a little better, because Shoma fakes it where he doesn’t remember, and Stéphane reminds him afterwards instead of reminding him throughout. 

“Hm,” Stéphane says, before he re-starts the song. He looks at Shoma like he’s trying to figure him out. “Imagine it more like a conversation? When you do the--” he gestures, laughs a little when Shoma’s head tilts. “This thing, after the turn. It’s like a pair dance, you see? You have a partner, and you hold them, and you’re going in circles, with them, spinning.” 

And oh. Shoma can imagine that. His outstretched arms opening up for an embrace, pulling someone in and turning around each other. 

He flubs his jumps on the next attempt, falling out of the first and stumbling on the second, but the sequences between them are better. 

He tries it again, and it’s better. He can almost see it come together, when they have to finally leave the ice. 

“You picked this up much faster than I thought, but we can run through it again before the show tonight, if you want?” Stéphane suggests. “We can do some last adjustments.” 

It’s very easy to say yes. 

*** 

“Your new program looks lovely,” Yuzu says, behind him. Shoma jumps, a little, which makes Yuzu laugh. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

Shoma is the last one in the changing room. He has been taking his time, taking off his skates, and his socks and his joggers, thinking about the program, still. The music is still ringing in his head, that moment in which the voices overlap. It’s lovely. He wants to do it justice. 

Yuzuru is looking at Shoma curiously. Shoma meets his eyes, and feels himself blushing for no reason. 

“I didn’t know you watched.” 

Yuzu shrugs, a little. “Only the run-throughs at the end. I wanted to know what you were working on. You started yesterday, right?” 

Shoma nods, explains about Stéphane’s offer. It makes Yuzuru laugh. 

“I think he’s trying to nab you, steal you away to Europe.” 

Shoma shakes his head, probably a little too much. “I don’t think so. I think he’s just being nice.”

Yuzu snorts at that. “You don’t choreograph an entire program with someone in mind just to be nice. I’m pretty sure he thinks you’re very talented.” 

It makes Shoma blush harder. Something Keiji said to him, what seems like forever ago, rings back in Shoma’s head. 

“Do you?” he finds himself asking. It’s not insecurity, necessarily. Shoma knows he’s improved, but his last senior season was not what he wanted. There is much further improvement to be done, he knows this. Whatever Yuzu might say, he will take his advice and move on, get better. 

Yuzu blinks, flabbergasted. “Obviously.” 

He says it like it is simple truth, no further explanations necessary. 

“Oh.” 

Shoma has to rip his eyes away from Yuzu, who looks soft and sort of despairingly fond of him. Shoma leans back down to put on new socks and his shoes. 

When he looks back up, Yuzu still has that expression on his face, so Shoma can’t help but reach out and poke him in the side, just to make him laugh. 

He succeeds. 

Yuzu waits while Shoma changes out of his shirt and into a fresher one, pulls on his jacket and packs his dirty clothes and skates. 

Shoma looks at him, and the fact that he’s been waiting patiently while Shoma dawdled, and wonders. Usually, Yuzu will go for lunch with Javi, or Jeff, or the entire group. 

“Why didn’t you leave with the others?” 

Yuzu shrugs, mouth pulling into a pout. “We’re all going to the goodbye dinner tonight anyway, so I guess I thought I’d wait for you.” 

It’s sweet. Usually, Shoma would just go back to the hotel, grab something to eat there, and then spend the hours between this practice and the next set playing a game, or talking to his family or Keiji. Sometimes Kanako might drag him out. 

“Let’s drop off our bags at the hotel and grab lunch?” he suggests, lightly. Yuzu nods. That was probably his plan, anyway. They start walking, slowly, to the shuttle. 

“It can count as our first date,” Shoma adds, with a grin, just to watch Yuzu’s face break into a grin. 

“Actually,” Yuzu says, and Shoma should have known he wouldn’t let it slide, “I think our first date was that time we went for dinner?” 

“When I told you I told Kanako and Keiji about everything?” Shoma asks, and the disbelief must be audible in his voice, because Yuzu shakes his head. 

“No, the time we went with the whole group. We walked home together, afterwards?”

Shoma looks up at Yuzu, who is looking kind of serious. There’s a set to his jaw that Shoma can’t quite categorize. 

“After we kissed for the first time,” Yuzu adds, like Shoma might have forgotten. 

Shoma has not forgotten. 

He remembers the stairs. And the elevator. And the immanent feeling of confusion and delight and doubt that crashed over him like waves afterwards. 

“Why?” he asks, instead of trying to figure it out for himself. 

He stops walking. They are almost at the shuttle, and he wants to know before the conversation can get interrupted or overheard. 

He doesn’t think that’s the moment he wants to set for their relationship to begin. He doesn’t know why Yuzu would, when at that point Shoma was so uncertain, and so willing to ignore everything that was wrong between them.  

At that point, Shoma suspected that whatever was between them would be temporary. 

Maybe Yuzu doesn’t know that. 

Yuzu stops, too. He takes in Shoma’s expression, and Shoma isn’t sure what his face is doing, but it makes Yuzuru smile a little sadly. 

“It was the first time you actually told me how to be good for you,” Yuzu says, slowly, like he is trying not to rush ahead in his explanation. “Or...” he hesitates, “that’s wrong. You had said some things before, of course, but. I think that day was when you stopped hiding. It’s when I felt like I wasn’t... I don’t know, pushing you.” 

That day, Shoma told Yuzu he didn’t need space, and they kissed, and everything spun out of control. 

But maybe he did stop hiding. Maybe it was a first step towards facing his feelings, Shoma isn’t sure. Everything is very tangled in his head, still. 

“But I pulled away again. After that,” Shoma says, quietly. 

Yuzu hums, knocks his shoulder into Shoma’s. 

“I understand why,” he says, just as quiet. “There was so much unclear. I’m sorry.”

It’s helping: talking about all of this. It’s good to hear Yuzu’s perspective on it all. Shoma had made up all these rules and regulations for their interactions, tried to close himself off as much as he could, and it didn’t work at all because they were never on the same page. 

It’s healthy to talk about both sides, find common ground, even if it feels a little painful and embarrassing and confusing. 

They get on the shuttle, which is half-empty, and find a row towards the back where they can sit next to each other. In the small private sphere of their row, it’s easy to wrap his hand around Yuzu’s, intertwine their fingers in a way that Shoma has quickly grown fond of. 

Yuzu always thought of Shoma as his soulmate, if one he could not be with. It’s still a strange thought to Shoma, because it reveals the entire foundation he’d build his reasoning and his rules for their interactions on as crooked and false. Yuzu intended not a break but a pause, and the misunderstanding cost them years. 

Shoma still isn’t sure what sharing bruises really means to Yuzu. Shoma took them as visual clues to their bond, and tried so hard to separate himself from them that thinking about them creates a sense of dissonance in him: the bruising is a part of their relationship, but it doesn’t strike him as a very important, or defining part. 

Apart from what it did to make them strangers to each other for far longer than necessary. 

“You know,” Shoma says, when they are back to the hotel, and he is following Yuzu into his room. It’s a dark thought, kind of, but he derives a weird sense of humour from it. Maybe Yuzu can, too.  

“If we didn’t share bruises, we probably would have figured this all out much faster.” 

He can’t help but laugh, a little. It’s not a bitter laugh, but he feels a little exasperated. Yuzu is frowning, but then his face resolves into something soft, after a minute. 

“You know,” he starts, after a beat of silence that they spend just looking at each other. He’s mirroring Shoma, adopting the same playful tone. “I am realising that you must like me a lot,” he says, and smiles, a little hopeful, a little fearful, too, “to want to be with me, after all of that.” 

Shoma can feel himself blush. He does. He likes Yuzu so much. 

Yuzu closes the door behind him. 

It shouldn’t be hard to admit: Yuzu clearly already knows. And Shoma has very good reasons to suspect Yuzu feels the same. 

“Hmm,” Shoma finds himself agreeing, tipping his face up to grin at this boy he likes very much, even after everything they put each other through. “You’re okay.” 

Yuzu grins down at him, steps even closer. Shoma pulls him in by the hips, and this, too, he is growing fond of quickly. 

He leans back, a little, back arching. Yuzu leans down, wraps his arms around Shoma’s waist to hold him close. 

Kissing him is effortless. 

The rest of it will take work.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait you all. I'm bad at endings. 
> 
> Thank you again to Verit, the tru MVP, for listening to me rant, leaving comments all over the google docs, providing a safe space as well as finding and fixing the capital letter after the double dot every time.


End file.
